Forged Through Fade and Flame
by Grace Kay
Summary: The Breach is closed. The Inquisition is saved. Now Zanneth has an even more impossible task: foil Corypheus' plans. Sequel to O Seeker Still Seeking and Forbidden Magic. Non-tagged romances: f!Hawke/Isabela, Bethany/Blackwall, Cullen/OC, Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
1. Prologue

The horse's feet beat a rhythmic tattoo upon the ground. It only moves at a canter, allowing the rider to sit up tall and take in her surroundings.

The mountains are cold, still thick with white snow. The snow is pristine, heaped in piles so tall she would be lost in it. The path, however, is somehow clear of the stuff, providing no obstacle to her horse's feet. It is, however, _bitterly_ cold. She worries for the horse's hooves, so she keeps him at a canter to keep his blood warm and coursing through him.

The only thing she sees for many hours are mountains and snow, and the brilliant stars in the inky blackness of the night sky. The constellations are familiar, old stories her mother and father used to share with her as a little girl. Both of her parents are gone now, taken from her. But the stories she still remembers, even as the details of their faces become fuzzy in her mind's eye.

Life has been unkind to the rider in many ways. So much has been taken from her. But much has been left to her, as well. Such is life, she supposes. Especially for those who find themselves at the epicenter of cataclysmic events. You do not leave such chaos without that chaos having left a mark upon you.

Still. Sometimes she wishes her life had stayed quiet, calm, a farm with her parents and her siblings whole and intact. Time and distance make it sting less, but the ache runs deeper. It is a wound that cannot be debrided or mended, no matter how she tries.

So she bears it. She has no other choice.

She travels around a bend in the path, and the very air is stolen from her lungs at the sight revealed to her.

The castle is huge. The whole of a mountain's peak was cleared for its foundation. The stones are ancient, yet continue to hold, strong as ever. Stronger even than what the dwarves might make. Arrayed around it are white-capped peaks, but the castle appears to exist in a bed of spring – the river acting as a partial moat is running, not frozen, and the small amount of land surrounding the castle is verdant in the moonlight, free of the snow currently surrounding the rider's path.

Following the trail with her eyes, the rider sees that the castle is her destination. This is the place she is looking for.

This is Skyhold.

It is many minutes before she approaches the bridge leading to the main gate. She hesitates. Her horse paws at the ground, impatient. She is unsure here, at the last, at this precipice. One step forward – or several – and she'll expose herself, take herself out of hiding and into the light of scrutiny once more. Hiding has been difficult, but it has had many perks. No demands have been made of her these last two years. She has been free to laugh, to love, to spend her days sleeping and her nights drinking and making love.

But it has lacked a purpose. She has always thrived with a purpose.

Skyhold will give her purpose. But will it tear even more from her? Purpose makes it impossible to protect those she loves. It doesn't just tear things from her. It tears precious things away from _them_.

"Who goes there?!"

She sighs. She has hesitated too long, and now the decision has been made for her. Urging her horse forward, she moves to the center of the bridge, her hands up in the air, palms facing the castle in the universal show of peace. Stopping the horse, she raises her voice to be heard over the low howl of the wind as it moves through the tunnels made by the mountaintops.

"I am Damian Hawke! I come at the invitation of Solona Amell and Varric Tethras, and I seek audience with the Inquisitor!"

* * *

 _A/N: I'm back! Here is the sequel to O Seeker Still Seeking! All characters belong to Bioware, except Solona and Zanneth, who are aaaaaaall mine!_


	2. Skyhold

_A/N: Hello! A quick note before we go further._

 _One, Raven Sinead is wonderful and continues to act as my beta and Chief Idea Bouncer. But Mischieftess, too, has done some seriously good idea bouncing for me, including the utterly ridiculous parody variety. They are both good people._

 _Two, I am having entirely too much fun with this so far. **Starting** a story is always good fun. Hopefully that can sustain me when things get rough._

 _Three, if you're interested in seeing what Damian Hawke looks like, I posted a picture of how I imagine her on my facebook page that you can go check out if you like._

 _I think that's it. I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

 _Skyhold_

Zanneth was many things. She was a Dalish elf away from her clan. She was an orphan raised by her grandmother, her clan's Keeper. She was called Herald of Andraste by some. She was the Inquisitor, a title she accepted, though she truly hated being called "your Worship" by those she knew best, and only tolerated it when she absolute need be.

The last six months had reshaped her in many ways. Her physique was now a hybrid between a hunter and a warrior, her muscles larger than they had been, with a small layer of fat covering everything. Given how much of her time with the Inquisition had been spent losing and trying to regain weight, this was very much a _good_ thing, and difficult to obtain, given her inability to ingest wheat or milk. The Inquisition, too, had turned her hair white, thanks to the mark upon her hand. Her time here had also given her the scarring on her right cheek, courtesy of a prejudice-based attack from a soldier who was no longer part of this world.

Most dramatic, however, was the change to her visage, thanks to her rescue after the razing of Haven. Her _vallaslin_ were obscured on her forehead and the bridge of her nose, and above her scarred right cheek, her pointed ear was no more. Frostbite had necessitated the removal of its tip, and now it ended in a straight line, blunt but clean, just above the inner shell. It had hurt a great deal, but the Inquisitor had been drunker than she'd ever been in her life for the procedure, and then had the most skilled healer in the land close the wound without scarring. She was not yet accustomed to it, but she had accepted it. She was lucky to be alive, and she knew it.

None of this was on her mind at the moment, however. Instead, she was concentrating on the sheet of parchment in front of her.

"'Dearest Zanneth,'" she read out loud, recognizing her name. She looked up. "This is my grandmother's handwriting?"

"Presumably, yes." Cassandra Pentaghast, Right Hand of the last two Divines and Seeker of Truth, lay naked next to her, buried in the blankets and furs that kept them warm. Her arm rested comfortably over the small of Zanneth's back. "Would she dictate to someone?"

"Perhaps Relarian… but as he's not available to her…"

"Yes," Cassandra said, her arm tightening around Zanneth's waist momentarily. "Come, let us focus on _this_ , yes?"

Zanneth smiled, nodding, turning back to the parchment. She made her way slowly through the letter, but she managed nearly every word. Then Cassandra took it from her, reading it at normal speed so they would get the full meaning.

" _Dearest Zanneth,_

 _It gladdens my heart to read your words. I wish I could see this place you found as safe harbor in the mountains. An old elvhen fortress? Magic residing within it, making the land fertile even so high, even in such cold? It sounds a wonder. I do wish I could see it._

 _It also gladdens my heart to hear that you survived yet more potentially-fatal trials. It is unfair that you should bear such a burden, and that you should suffer so much. But such is often the fate of those placed within the eye of the swirling hurricane. And make no mistake, da'len. You are indeed at the center of what is promising to be a mighty hurricane, and the calmest place in the chaos is_ _ **you**_ _. But that does not mean there is no chaos. Remember this, my sweet granddaughter. And remember that I am_ _ **fiercely**_ _proud of you._

 _The clan does well. The hunt was good, and we have enough to see us through until spring. The climate is milder further north. We follow the herds into what the humans call Nevarra. This is where your paramour hails from, yes? I will tell you of it in my next letter. I am sure it is verdant and fertile. The animals would not wish to go to a place that is not._

 _Keep me informed of your goings-on, as you are able. And if you have need of me, just let me know. It is not entirely unheard of for a Keeper to venture from her clan when the need is great enough._

 _Dareth shirall, da'len."_

Cassandra looked up from the letter. "I told you she would not take issue with our involvement."

"Yes, well. If I had not heard of such things, then it would follow that neither would _she_ ," Zanneth said, feeling her face still hot and red from her grandmother's mention of Cassandra as her lover, despite having read over it herself. It was difficult to glean meaning from the words when she stumbled over them so.

There was so much in that sentence she could not read. What was her grandmother's tone? What was her face saying? If they were faced with each other, would her hand be on Zanneth? Or would she be cold and stiff, placing distance between them?

"You doubt her acceptance, don't you?" Cassandra's hand traveled to up Zanneth's cheek, gently insisting the elf look at her. "What do you fear, _emma lath_?"

Zanneth's heart melted just a little bit at the term of endearment, spoken in the language of the People. Cassandra was only now gaining assurance in her usage of such terms, at Zanneth's gentle encouragement. Sweet cinnamon eyes stared back at the elf from under dark, brooding brows. They did not brood now, however. They spoke only concern.

"I do not know. She is all I have left. Her approval is… perhaps it is childish, but it is important to me."

Strong arms wrapped around her. The letter lay forgotten for a moment on the pillow as Zanneth surrendered herself to her lover's embrace. "It is not childish, Zanneth," she said, speaking into the elf's shaggy white hair. "I forget what it is like. It has been many years since I had family to receive approval from. But I remember how important it was to me that Most Holy looked with approval upon my plans and actions. Perhaps it is not quite the same, but… I can see why it would be important."

"Creators, you are comforting me, and it is _you_ that has no reason to understand!" Zanneth exclaimed, almost forcibly switching their places. Cassandra let her, and in a moment they settled, the warrior's head resting upon the elf's breast. They stayed that way, for some time, the elf petting the human's dark hair, even shorter than her own. Zanneth even dozed. But a gentle rapping upon the door got her attention before she was truly asleep.

"Yes?" she called, rousing Cassandra, whose hearing was not as good as her own, despite having lost half her ear.

"Wuzzat?" the warrior asked sleepily.

"Someone is at the door, Cassandra." She pushed the warrior off, moving to pull her clothes on. Mere weeks before, Cassandra would have been mortified to have Zanneth answer the door, for these were the Seeker's quarters, not the Inquisitor's, and to have it so publicly known that they were lovers was not something Cassandra was accustomed to. But keeping a secret here was like trying to herd cats; they had stopped trying by now. In addition, the eyes that followed them were only happy, none of them malicious or teasing, and so the both of them had relaxed, at least within the walls of Skyhold. Now, it was well-known around the castle that the Herald could be found in the Seeker's rooms, for they both detested the grandiose nature of the Inquisitor's quarters.

Finishing with her clothes, Zanneth opened the door a crack, finding a boy, soon to be a man, dressed in the uniform of Josephine's messengers. "Yes?" she said.

"Begging your pardon, your Worship." His voice cracked, but he managed to keep his composure. Zanneth tried desperately not to smile. She did not think he would see it as anything other than teasing. "Someone came in the night for an audience with you. Lady Montilyet asked me to come wake you early."

"All right," Zanneth said, knitting her brows. "I will be there in five minutes. I hope she can wait that long?"

"Aye, your Worship. She will be in her office with the Ladies Amell and your guest."

Zanneth nodded, shutting the door.

"An audience with the Herald? This person came in the night?" Cassandra let the blankets fall away, reaching for her trousers, in a heap at the foot of the bed.

"Must be an important guest," was all Zanneth said. She let her eyes feast upon the sight of her naked lover. Muscular legs, a solid middle, large breasts that hung like satin petals as she bent double. Her arms were swathed in large muscles, able to dominate in battle with a long sword in each hand. Those arms also sent Zanneth to the moon every time they lifted the small elf. If Cassandra was in the right mood, Zanneth's feet were not allowed to touch the ground between the door and the bed.

Zanneth's shiver was not only from the open window. Cassandra's room was above the smithy, whose fires never went out. The chill through the open window was usually welcome with the heat from their forge rising to invade this room. In the light of the moon coming in through that window, her lover looked exceptionally delicious.

"If you are quite done staring, let us be away," Cassandra huffed, now dressed. Zanneth grinned. The Seeker pretended impatience with Zanneth's desire, but the elf knew the human's ardor matched her own. It was amusing, to say the least, to watch the warrior grapple with the passion of new love, and with the impatience for such things bred by seeing many summers and many romances in others.

Still grinning, Zanneth followed Cassandra out of the building, invigorated by the cold slap of air on her cheeks.

* * *

Solona couldn't sleep. She'd tried to lie there and just fake it, but every little move she made, she feared she would wake Leliana. So she finally extricated herself from her lover's limbs, petted the former bard's red hair for a moment, pulled on her clothing, and left their shared quarters.

Walking along the parapets was becoming a tiresome habit. She hadn't gotten more than three hours of sleep in a night since they came to Skyhold. She had memorized every hall, every room, every flight of stairs, and exactly how long it took to walk the perimeter of the battlements. She had even run the perimeter, more than once.

Tonight, instead of pacing the parapets, Solona chose to meditate. There was a tower, empty and demolished at the moment, where she was hoping to conduct lessons and fill it with books, so much more than the small library above the Atrium. She couldn't do anything about it now, though, so she merely climbed the ladders to its top, went out on the roof, and perched herself with a view of the path to Skyhold.

Accessing the Fade here, in the cold and the calm and the quiet, was simple. Or, it would be, if her mind could reach that same level of quiet. But it could not. Every time she closed her eyes, the noise was deafening. Images accosted her, of her time in captivity. Now that she knew it had been Corypheus who ordered her capture, the memories were starting to unlock. Or perhaps it was merely her imagination filling in the blanks. She saw his horrible face, the severity and anger in his malevolent gaze. It was so pure, so unadulterated – no _person's_ hate was ever so pure. Always, people's emotions were more complicated than that.

But Corypheus looked at her much how she might look upon a hated pest. His gaze joined his voice, grinding against her soul and making her teeth clench. The lash came, the pain flashed over her skin, and no amount of calming thoughts could quiet the pain and the fear that spread through her, originating with an icy-cold grip on her heart. It seemed a physical sensation when she woke, and when she visited the Fade in her dreams, she was there again, that infernal device filling her head with noise, interrogated and lashed until he left her, of no use to him as she did not bear the taint.

She had been left to Alexius to do with as he would.. _How did you survive the taint?!_ Knowing _why_ Alexius tortured her did nothing to drive the experience from her mind. He wished to cleanse his son of the taint, to save him. And he would do this to her in order to find the "cure." If he had known Fiona had once been a Grey Warden, would he have done the same with her?

She could forgive Dorian his part in it all. He had acted out of love, but even that was not powerful enough to supersede his conscience. As soon as the truth had been revealed to him, he had worked tirelessly to ensure Solona's escape, and to foil the Elder One's plans. He had been merely a pawn. Alexius had been, as well, but a pawn with his own agenda.

An agenda that, even months after his death, was slowly driving Solona mad.

Taking a deep breath, the arcane warrior tried again to center herself. Murmuring, concentrating on the feeling of the vibration of her voice reverberating in her chest, Solona reached out, pulling aside the fabric of the Veil and drawing power from the Fade. It spilled over her into her body, invigorating her immediately. Time suspended, and she saw the Fade overlay the world around her. Stepping into the Fade was so simple for her.

She took that step. Perhaps walking the Fade with a conscious mind would help her sort through some of the nightmares that had been plaguing her?

She opened her eyes again, standing in the raw Fade. The landscape around her shifted, undulating, seeming so small one moment, and the next dwarfing the mage. She knew it for an illusion; her mind, so used to images, was trying to make sense of a place that did not work like the world of her physical self. Thinking changed the landscape.

She thought of Skyhold, and the forms around her began to change.

The first thing she saw was Haven. She saw herself and the Herald of Andraste walking away from the Chantry. Solona gulped. She was not sure she wished to see this. She knew what happened. So she changed her focus to the others, to the hundreds of forms swarming through the village, grabbing every blanket, stitch of clothing, piece of food, and weapon they could carry. She descended to their level, standing in a sea of activity while the others moved at breakneck speed. She walked calmly through it, watching time speed through the events of Haven.

The landscape changed. The Inquisition was in the mountain camp, outside Haven. The Herald and the Hero had been found. Solona saw herself naked in Leliana's embrace, suffering from hypothermia. Then the Herald was being named Inquisitor. The Inquisition moved through the mountains, its Inquisitor and the strange, bald, elven mage at its front. A human Inquisition led by elves. What a sight.

The castle loomed in the distance: their salvation. They did not know it in the vision, but Solona remembered it well, and her memories shaped the reflection she beheld. The castle was preserved by magic: the straw in the beds was not rotten, the food in the cellars was plentiful and still quite fresh, and the land was fertile and not frozen. The gardens were full of well-tended crops, but not a single soul could be found inside the grounds of Skyhold.

A joyful noise was made unto the Maker, this place declared Holy by many. Solona saw the conception of many babes in the celebration and affirmation of life through the winter. Solona would be very busy as a midwife come autumn.

The thought made her smile.

"I did not expect to find this in the Fade when I ventured here this night."

Solona turned, so very surprised to find another conscious mind in the Fade with her. She saw Solas, the elven mage who had kept to himself in Haven, standing at her side.

"I did not expect to find another wanderer of the Fade," she said, knitting her brows. "How is it you come here?"

"Relax, Warrior. I am not another as you. You possess a truly _singular_ gift." The elf smiled, somewhere between a smirk and a grin, before turning and looking upon the scene Solona has been observing, watching as Skyhold was settled and its grateful new inhabitants began the necessary repairs. "I have learned the lucid dream. And as mages are pulled to the Fade more often than others when they dream, I am lucid in my dreams here."

Solona nodded. "It is interesting you see what I see."

"We are in the same place, and we both remember these things. The Fade is acting as I expect it to. It would pick up these similar thoughts of ours."

Solona looked out upon the vista. She saw herself pacing her room, then exploring the dungeons, visiting her patients in the night, and harvesting from the gardens as the dawn came upon Skyhold.

"You have been restless," the man finally said. He just barely came up to Solona's nose.

"Aye. I do not sleep well here, it seems."

"Such is often the case for those who suffer trauma," Solas said, turning once more to face her. "Often the nightmares take some time to find the sufferer. Continued activity holds the demons at bay, but once peace is found, the mind knows none of that peace."

"It is as you say. I have not known one night of peaceful sleep since coming here."

"Is it images that plague you?"

Solona shook her head. "Images, sounds, physical pain…"

"The echoes of your traumas, yes." His bald head bobbed in a nod. "As it is for many."

"I have known others tortured, traumatized. They sleep well." Solona watched as an image of Leliana, body cut open and lying on a cot in Arl Eamon's estate in Denerim, flashed before them. There was no keeping such images from Solas – the Fade was not a place secrets were kept.

"I will say nothing, Warrior. Merely looking upon the spymaster makes it clear she has seen much. I am unsurprised." He turned from the image, facing Solona again. "Your traumas are different. She saw physical pain. Her body was abused. But her mind was allowed to retreat, and thus remain whole. Yours, however…. It has been sundered. Or they tried. It attempts to repair itself, but the body is so much more pliable than the mind, especially for you. For your mind _directs_ your body."

Solona frowned. "Are you saying that when I journey to the Fade, I try to heal as my body does in the physical world?"

He smiled. "I see you are as clever as the Warriors have ever been! So strange you are not of the People… Yes, your mind attempts to heal itself as your body is so easily able to do. But you won't let it. You awaken, forcibly rend yourself from the Fade, before any progress has been made."

"How do you know so much?"

"You make such a splash in the Fade, Warrior," he said with a shrug. "I see its ripples each time I venture here."

"You are very strange," Solona responded, frowning. "You say nothing, reach out to no one, and yet know so much."

"I have many important relationships." Suddenly the landscape changed, the raw Fade showing once more. "But they are not of the physical world." Several presences made themselves known where none had been before.

Solona started, eyes riveted on one of these spirits. "Valor?!"

"Warrior!" the spirit shouted, its deep voice booming within and without. "Another challenge?" It lifted its mighty sword above its head, but did not try to strike her.

Solona turned to see Solas's smirk. "I see you have met before?" he said.

"Valor showed me how to access the curtain of the Veil. It was the first time I came here as an arcane warrior." Solona turned her eyes upon the armored figure. Then her eyes traveled to several others, these nebulous, vaguely human-shaped, but with no visible details. "You commune with spirits?"

"I speak with them, yes. They are my good friends. The mundane is… well, _mundane_ , after spending my dreams with these personalities."

"So you draw your wisdom from your friends," Solona breathed, understanding dawning.

"Something like that. Perhaps one day I will reveal all of my person, but that is enough to explain for now, yes?"

"So you can help me?"

He smiled again. "Ah, that cleverness! Yes, I can help you. At least, I hope I can."

"And how can I repay you for such?"

"It will be enough to know the ancient Order persists. Yours is an existence that is unique, almost lost. Your very body is a door through to the Fade. But your troubled mind makes the Fade uneasy, the spirits restless. I fear for them, as I fear for you. I would see all of your agitation eased."

Solona nodded. She knew he spoke truth, for there was no hiding emotion here, in this place of raw feeling.

"Come meditate with me in the Atrium when you have the time," Solas continued, nodding to his spirit friends. "You can take me here with you, outside of sleep. For now, however, someone approaches you on the battlements."

Solona opened her eyes, and there, with the Fade and the physical world existing in one place, was Leliana, frozen in time, her aura bright and blue eyes brighter. Stepping back into the physical world, Solona felt time move forward again, and watched as Leliana continued walking to Solona's side.

"Meditating?" she asked.

Solona nodded. { _Yes_ ,} she signed with her hands, before pushing herself to her feet. She was sore, stiff, and bloody _freezing_. She must have sat here for hours, clad only in hose, shirt, and boots. { _I couldn't sleep._ }

Leliana nodded, handing her a cloak. "You haven't slept well since we came here."

{ _Yes. But I have a feeling… it may improve moving forward._ } She did not yet wish to tell Leliana of Solas's offer of help. She wished to see what that help might look like first.

"Someone arrived at Skyhold while you were in the Fade." Blue eyes caught hold of her own. "Your cousin, the Champion of Kirkwall."

"Damian is here?!" Solona had not seen the elder Hawke in years, but they had written often once she had learned the Hawke family had settled in Kirkwall after the Blight. She had even recruited Bethany to the Grey Wardens after the younger Hawke had been tainted in their Deep Roads expedition. Bethany had stayed with the Ferelden Order even when Solona had fled, leaving Amaranthine under the care of Oghren.

Leliana nodded. "Yes. Apparently you and Varric invited her for an audience with the Inquisitor?" she said, a single brow lifting.

Solona's face flushed. "Yes, we… well, she and he fought Corypheus together. Bethany told me thus. That is now _our_ foe. He told me he knew where she was, so I told him to invite her. We agreed _not_ to tell Cassandra…"

"A wise choice," the Left Hand said, her smirk threatening to spill over into outright laughter. "She is going to kill him. You know this, yes?"

"Yes. Come. Let us go keep that from happening."

They made their way from the ladder, heading for Josephine's office.


	3. The Champion of Kirkwall

Damian Hawke stood just under six feet in height, meaning she stood rather taller than the other two people in the room with her. Introductions had been made, but she did not know much about either of them, except what she could see.

Lady Josephine Montilyet was short, dark of skin and hair, and resplendent in a gold dress. Somehow she'd managed to look presentable despite the elder Hawke's arrival in the dead of night. Lady Revka Amell she knew to be her own distant cousin, though they had never actually met. She looked much like Solona, who Damian _had_ spent some time with. Her grey, laughing eyes were spot-on. She, however, was quite short, unlike Solona, standing only a couple of inches taller than the ambassador. In addition, she was monstrously pregnant, a large man's tunic stretched over her belly. She must be ready to pop any minute.

A knock at the door caught her attention, and she turned just in time to see a familiar face appear.

"Varric!"

"Hawke! Glad to see you in one piece!"

She strode forward, grasping his wrist in her hand and holding his forearm with the other. Their difference in height would make an embrace more than a little awkward for the friends.

"Bloody good to hear from you!" she said, beaming. Truly, she had missed his face. And his stories. Isabela told excellent stories, but the two of them together held all the swagger in all the world. Just being near them put a constant smile on her face.

"I expected you to write back, not just _show up_ ," Varric said, winking.

"Yes, well. I suppose I wanted to see that look on your face, being woken from your beauty sleep." A giggle in the corner caught her attention, and she turned to see Revka was the one it issued from. She smiled. It seemed she _was_ among family.

"Hey. This chest hair doesn't attract the ladies all on its own. It takes _effort_. And _sleep_."

Damian chuckled. "Ah, that chest hair. Isabela will kill me for getting to take a gander before her. Send me with a locketful for her? Not that she won't already be ready to fuck me blind when I see her again."

"Really!" Damian looked up again to see a thoroughly scandalized Lady Montilyet.

She smirked. "I'm sorry, Lady Ambassador. I do forget myself. I'm accustomed to… persistently impolite company."

The ambassador opened her mouth, but her assistant spoke first. "I can see why you and my sister got on so well."

Damian's grin smoothed, warming into a genuine smile. "It's been many years. But I look on that time with fondness. She told me she found you and your family? Though it did not end well…"

"Yes, she did. And I am grateful. I do not regret what has happened since."

Damian bowed her head. She knew much of regret. She did not understand willfully leaving one's parents behind, but she _did_ understand that not all parents were good like her own had been.

Whatever might have been said next was halted by the door opening once more.

"Cousin!"

At the door was Solona Amell. She stood just a hair taller than Damian, brown skin contrasting starkly with her bright white hair. And she looked entirely unlike how she had when they'd met before the Blight. They had both been younger then. Solona's hair had been long, her face smooth and unmarked. She'd been boisterous, but with bouts of shyness, her inexperience with anything outside of the Circle causing her to constantly hesitate.

Nothing about the woman in front of Damian was smooth or shy any longer. Solona stood with a calm assuredness not present in that girl of nineteen who had shown up on Leandra's door, having run from the Circle. Her face bore a purple tattoo, the mark the Templar Order within Ferelden's Circle of Magi used to give to apostates who had run and been returned to them. Anders had born a similar tattoo upon his visage.

And the woman had aged. Both of them had. It had been more than a decade since they had seen each other.

This time, Damian did stride forward, meeting the Hero of Ferelden in the center of the room and pulling her into a fierce embrace. They stood for many seconds, holding tightly to each other. Both of them had been through their own hardships, labeled with a title they did not want, saved a city where mayhem had threatened everything. The years had not been kind to either of them. But they were family, and could take comfort in their shared experiences.

Damian had not realized how much she needed that until this moment.

"You are blocking the door- oh."

Damian released her cousin, looking past her to see others had come through the door behind her. All three were remarkable for different reasons, and people Damian recognized from description alone. The redhead and the dark-haired women Solona had described in letters to the Champion. The redhead would be Leliana, Solona's lover and long-time companion, since the days of the Blight. The other would be the Seeker.

Damian narrowed her eyes. This was the woman who had driven her away from Kirkwall with her questions. Rumors of an Exalted March came with her, so Damian had fled, refusing to allow hellfire to rain down upon the citizens of Kirkwall once again because of her. Let the Exalted March follow Damian, but let it spare that ravaged city-state. She did not like the Seeker, for the rumors that followed her, and for her treatment of Varric.

But in front of the Seeker, just as arresting, if not more, was an elf. Damian knew just who this was.

"Inquisitor," she said, stepping around her cousin and holding her hand out for the white-haired woman who came up just past her chin.

"Champion," the woman murmured, taking her hand. They stared for a moment.

"Ah, yes, let me finish the introductions," Lady Montilyet said. "Champion, this is Inquisitor Lavellan. Just behind her is Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, Right Hand of the Divine, and here is Leliana, Left Hand of the Divine, known as Sister Nightingale outside this room."

"I am Damian Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall and Gold Member at the Blooming Rose brothel."

Solona sniggered.

"What? I thought we were announcing all the ridiculous things people call us?"

That got her a laugh from nearly everyone, except Lady Montilyet and Lady Pentaghast. Damian knew exactly who Solona and Varric both pestered as often as possible from that alone.

"We can leave the long list of titles aside," the ambassador said now, recalling everyone's attention. Damian did not miss how Solona immediately began gesturing for Leliana, who the Champion knew to be deaf. That news had dismayed Bethany, who had befriended her in Lothering after Damian and Carver had left for the army. The small redhead seemed to get on all right, however. Having someone as devoted as Solona at her side had to help a great deal.

"Right. If you'll just leave the title out of it, I would be happiest," Damian said. "I don't use it much these days. And I never preferred it in Kirkwall."

"Very well. Ser Hawke. You have come in the dead of night for some purpose, I presume?"

Damian frowned. "I didn't ask that everyone be awakened before dawn."

"I apologize." The ambassador took a deep breath before explaining herself. "I was the one who felt that necessary. I only meant to open the conversation about the Elder One."

"The Elder One?"

It was Varric who clarified. "Corypheus. You know, the one we _killed_ five years ago?"

"Ah. Yes." The letter from Varric and Solona had explained that the bastard had showed his face again, this time with an army of templars driven mad by red lyrium.

Just like Meredith.

"We were hoping you could share your encounter with us," Solona said.

"You already dropped half a mountain on the bastard. I'm not sure anything I can say can do that justice."

"But what of him before, when you found him?"

"Did Bethany not tell you? You could have asked if you'd ever written me back after I fled Kirkwall. I even gave instructions on how to find me if needed. Did you not get my letters?"

"I did. Solona… couldn't." This was Leliana. Damian could hear the dulcet tones of Orlais in her voice, overlaid by the nasal pitch of one long-deaf. That she could speak so well was surprising to the elder Hawke.

"I don't follow…"

"It is a long story, Damian. Suffice it to say, I was not in Orlais to receive your letters. Leliana read them for me, but they were destroyed when she left Orlais for Haven." It seemed to Damian that much was being left unsaid, but she could not for the life of her glean what. "As for Corypheus, it has been many years. I would hear it again, and from you, if you don't mind."

Damian sighed. "Very well. But it is a long tale."

"Then if you don't mind," the assistant ambassador huffed, "I shall sit. Standing still for too long takes its toll on my back."

Smiling, Damian watched her overly large cousin take a seat. She looked forward to getting to know the woman, at least a little. She had apparently married Cullen. What a strange, small world.

Taking a deep breath, she began. "Five years ago, some Carta dwarves came for me in the night…"

* * *

Cassandra could barely keep a cap on her rage. All through Hawke's tale of Corypheus – a tale she had heard in-depth from Varric – she seethed, staring daggers into the back of Leliana's cowled head. Already she had been angry with Varric, for lying and saying he knew nothing of Hawke's whereabouts. But to hear that Leliana had heard tell of the Champion after she had left Kirkwall, had read missives written in the woman's own hand, and not spoken of it to Cassandra? Had a way to find the woman but said nothing?!

To say she was murderous was a dramatic understatement.

But she could do nothing about it now.

"So Corypheus can influence those who are tainted." Solona looked to the Herald. "It certainly fits with what he told us in Haven."

Cassandra's frown deepened. She was feeling more and more alienated.

"Corypheus has the Red Templars, the Venatori, and now possibly the Grey Wardens on his side?" Zanneth said, white brows knit. "That is not good."

"Understatement of the year," Varric muttered.

"I didn't come this far just to deliver bad news," Hawke said, a smirk on her face. How? How could she find a reason to laugh, to jest, with such dire tidings? She must truly be related to Solona.

"Oh?" the Herald asked.

"I have… friends in the wardens. Two have been hiding with me these two years. They speak of the Calling, and how it feels different than it should."

"How so?" It was the first time Cassandra spoke.

Damian's eyes, blue and fierce, snapped to Cassandra's. "They retain their minds, even months later," the Champion said. Her gaze was the first in a very long time to make the Seeker feel small. She saw such depth there, such tragedy, such horror. And yet, they remained laughing eyes, akin to Solona's and Revka's. Did the laugh come from within for them all? Or was it some physical family trait?

"Your… companions. It is Bethany, yes? Who is the other?" Solona asked.

Hawke looked away from Cassandra, relieving the Seeker of the burden of holding that gaze. "The Warden-Commander."

"Oghren. I see… Well, as much of a lush Oghren is, he isn't stupid. I imagine the two of them know quite a lot about how the Calling ought to affect them…"

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. "There is something you are not saying, Solona."

"I… struggle with how much to tell of the secrets of an order that ousted me." She shook her head, sighing. "The Calling should not happen this early. Bethany and Oghren both took the taint into their blood in the last ten years. Alistair told me we would get thirty years, not less than ten. And for them both to hear their Calling at the same time? It is either fake, or something dreadful is happening."

"I fled to Amaranthine after Kirkwall." Hawke's eyes found Cassandra's again. "I was fleeing you and the threat of an Exalted March, Seeker."

Cassandra's face flushed, but she said nothing. The rumor of an Exalted March had been true. This Inquisition would have been it.

"We fled from there because Oghren feared corruption in the warden's ranks. Apparently, they all felt the Calling at the same time. Orders came from Orlais to join ranks there, in the Deep Roads, but Oghren felt it was… unwise."

Solona snorted. "I'm sure his language was more colorful than that."

Hawke grinned. "Indeed. 'Bunch of nug-humpin' lunatics, wantin' ta go inta th' Deep Roads,'" she imitated. "He let his people do as they wished, and fled with myself and Bethany, so they could investigate. We've been in hiding ever since."

"Damian," Solona said, face utterly serious. _Wonderful. Here comes some jape,_ Cassandra thought.

"Yes, Cousin?"

"I am _truly_ sorry you've been in his lecherous company for so long." _There it is._

Hawke sniggered. "Yes. He is a bit of a cretin. But his heart is in the right place."

"If I might bring things back to the topic of discussion," Josephine said, speaking for the first time in nearly half an hour, "did Ser Oghren suspect something of the Orlesian Order?"

"Yes. Corruption, perhaps? He didn't know what, but he didn't trust the summons. Now that we know Corypheus is part of it, I suspect he's influencing them. Perhaps the entirety of the order this time, now that his will is behind it and he's not a prisoner any longer."

Zanneth spoke again. "I would like to speak with these warden friends of yours. We have a warden in our ranks who has not spoken of this Calling at all. They should confer, see why he might not be hearing this call."

"Truly?" Hawke's eyes traveled to Cassandra again. "I must be sure they are safe here…" Cassandra's face burned at the implication. She admired Hawke. The Champion had made decisions necessary to ensure the safety of those without blame. _If Varric's tale can be believed… the little bastard lied about Hawke's whereabouts. And I believed him! Who knows what else he embellished?_

"You have my protection," the Inquisitor said, without hesitation, making Cassandra's heart swell with pride, even as she glared daggers at Varric. She had come a long way from the small Dalish huntress who wanted no part in the leadership of the people here.

Hawke smiled. "That will do. I'll send for them at once. It took me a week to get here. Hopefully their journey will be as smooth. It's still winter down there."

"I can provide you with a swift messenger bird," Leliana said, stepping forward. "If you follow me, you can send your message this morning."

"Hold a moment," Cassandra said as Leliana turned toward her, likely to escort Hawke out of the room. "I would speak with Solona and Varric. Privately."

She did not miss how the two named individuals traded a _look_. Cassandra narrowed her eyes. They had become close during the winter in Skyhold.

Leliana nodded, knowing eyes almost seeming to smile, despite the serious expression on her face. Cassandra was still furious with the Left Hand, but she would speak with Leliana later. Varric and Solona she could scold. Her fellow Hand, however, required a cooler head than Cassandra currently had, and she possessed just enough restraint to heed that knowledge.

Moving past them, Cassandra walked into the War Room they had set up off of the ambassadors' office. _Three_ sets of footsteps followed her.

* * *

Zanneth stopped just inside the door, closing it behind her. She knew some of why Cassandra wanted to speak with Solona and Varric, but the set to the Seeker's shoulders was… troublesome… to her lover. She had never seen Cassandra quite so angry before. Not even when they first met in the dungeons of Haven after the explosion at the Conclave.

"What's this about, Seeker?" Varric asked.

Zanneth actually jumped when Cassandra suddenly rounded on the dwarf, her hands going right for his throat.

"You knew where the Champion was all along!"

"Cass!" she shouted, moving forward. She was stopped by Solona's hand on her shoulder, however.

"Let them. He has hold of the situation. See?"

Zanneth watched as Varric freed himself, rolling out of Cassandra's grip.

"You're damned right I did!" Varric's face showed his anger was a match for Cassandra's.

"You conniving little shit!" Cassandra shouted, taking a swing at the dwarf. It was sloppy, though, easily avoided by the short man. Zanneth watched with wide eyes, not knowing what to do or say to calm her lover. Perhaps if Cassandra were this angry, bursting out like this, alone with Zanneth, then the elf might know how to handle it. But Varric just antagonized the Seeker, stoking the coals of her ire and fanning the flames of her anger.

"You kidnapped me!" the dwarf yelled, incredulous. "You interrogated me! What the fuck did you expect?!"

"I _expected_ the truth!" Cassandra cried, no longer trying to hit Varric, just standing by the large table in the center of the room. "I _told_ you what was at stake!" Mixed with her anger was despondency. It worried the Herald.

"Solona," Zanneth whispered. "I… I think she might start to weep!"

"Let her. Better out than in. I have never seen her this angry before. And I fear I'm next."

"You throw him to the wolves?"

"That _wolf_ is your lover, Zanneth."

"Fair point," the elf said, nodding. _Calling her a wolf is not quite fair._

Meanwhile, Varric and Cassandra were shouting their argument.

"…I just hand her over to you?! 'It's okay, Damian, I swear this _zealot_ isn't fucking crazy'?!"

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. "We needed someone to lead this Inquisition." Her voice was low, deadly, and yet somehow also impassioned. "Solona had pissed off to Maker knew where."

"Hey!" Solona shouted. "This again?"

Cassandra went on as though Solona had not spoken. "I tried to find Hawke. I _thought_ Leliana tried to find her, too, but now I find out _she was reading Hawke's correspondence and not telling me_!" She looked pointedly to Solona. "Then she shows up here at your express invitation. I thought for a time that her disappearance had something to do with the explosion at the Conclave, but no. I come to find it was just you."

"The Inquisition _has_ a leader, Cassandra!" Varric said, pointing to Zanneth. "And you share her _bed_ every night! What more do you want?! To share Hawke's bed, too?"

"Of course not! But Hawke would have been at the Conclave! If anyone could have saved Most Holy… but no. You both kept her from us."

Solona tensed. "Piss off, Cassandra! And stop repeating yourself! I did not know where she was!" the arcane warrior roared. "I was gone, Cassandra! Captured to be used by Corypheus to make the very Breach we worked to seal in Haven! Neither of us could have saved the Divine!"

Cassandra was undeterred. "You claim you did not know where she was, but her _invitation_ was from both of you!"

"I told Solona the day I wrote the message, Seeker!" Varric crossed his arms over his open shirt. "We decided not to tell you until she got here because, you know, you might try to fucking _kill_ us."

Cassandra pursed her lips, squared her shoulders, and looked to Zanneth. "These are liars, Inquisitor. Snakes in our midst. Even after the Conclave, even with Solona missing, Varric kept Hawke from us, when we needed her to lead most."

"Again with this shit!" Varric frowned over at Zanneth, then looked back to Cassandra. " _We have an Inquisitor_. Have you forgotten? Hawke can't close the giant green demon rifts into the Fade!" He took a deep breath, lifting a single long arm to pinch the bridge of his nose. "As soon as I thought she could actually help – as soon as I knew Corypheus was involved – I decided to stop hiding her. We're on the same side, Seeker."

"We all know what side you are on, Varric. It will never be the Inquisitor's."

"Well, I… think I've heard enough to step in." All eyes turned to Zanneth at her words. She was no longer cowed to speak so in front of these people. They were her friends, her confidantes, and worked tirelessly to keep her safe so she could close the Breach. Yet, her heart did hammer against her ribs. Cassandra was _so_ agitated… "Varric, Solona, if you could leave me alone with Cassandra for a moment, please? I'll speak with you in Josephine and Revka's office."

"Yes, Inquisitor."

Solona left immediately. Varric, however, stopped at the door. "You know what I think? I think if either of them had been at the Conclave, then they'd be dead, too."

Silence reigned after he left the room.

It was almost a full minute of Cassandra's eyes upon Zanneth before the Seeker moved. Taking several steps forward, she dropped to her knees in front of the elf.

"Forgive me?" she pleaded.

Zanneth could only close the distance between them, pulling Cassandra into her arms. "Cassandra…"

To her credit, the Seeker wrapped her arms around Zanneth, as well, pushing her cheek into the elf's belly, accepting her comfort. "I was so ashamed in there, with Hawke looking upon me as she did. But what hurts even more is that I believed him. He spun his tale for me, and I _swallowed it_. If I just made him see what was at stake… If he'd only understand… But I didn't make him see." She lifted her face, looking up at Zanneth. "Not like you made me see."

Zanneth could not respond to that, could only pet Cassandra's hair and let her heart melt at the sight of her stoic lover so despondent.

"What you must think of me… I am such a fool."

"Cass… please, don't say such things."

"I should have been smarter!" Cassandra's desperation reverberated around them both. "This isn't about them, not truly. I should have been able to make him see! I don't deserve to be here, to protect you. My failing is what marked you and stole all from you. I should have been better. If I had found Hawke, then maybe… maybe you would not have lost everything… I could have saved you so much heartache, Zanneth!"

The Inquisitor could barely stand it. She, too, fell to her knees, ducking her head so she could catch the Seeker's gaze, held away from her. "Cassandra, please. Look at me." Cinnamon eyes found her own at the entreaty. "You beautiful fool." The Seeker's brows knit for a moment.

Zanneth continued. "I have much to regret. But if I had not lost those things, I would have not found myself here, in your arms." She smiled, palming the human's cheek. "And I could never regret that."

"Truly?" Cassandra's voice broke and scratched with the single word.

"Truly."

She could have waxed on longer. But it was not her way. And Cassandra knew it. A large hand moved around her neck, and then Zanneth found her head cradled by her lover. Familiar lips sought hers out, and the Inquisitor surrendered to the kiss. They had more to discuss, but when it came to how they felt, they both expressed themselves best like this.

Without words.

* * *

 _A/N: I changed this fight a bit to suit my needs, and to make it fit with my characterization of Cass. Romanced Cass specifically. Hope it works for you!_


	4. The Hands Rejoined

Leliana's morning routine was simple and rarely varied. Around dawn, Solona would venture back into their room after her pre-dawn insomnia, remove her clothing, and slide back into bed with the spymaster. This was how Leliana awoke every morning: naked and in her lover's arms. Sometimes they would make love, but often they simply would lie together, until Solona snored softly. Then Leliana would slip from the bed, wash her face, and pull on her Cowl of Office before getting to work.

Today had been a dramatic shift from her routine, however. The main reason was sitting at her own writing desk, quill scratching against parchment: Damian Hawke. Leliana watched the Champion of Kirkwall write her message, trying to remember the sound quill made against parchment. She'd been deaf nearly eleven years now. Her mind no longer remembered simple sounds like this.

She knew the _feeling_ of the quill well, though. She was spymaster of the Inquisition; she wrote many messages.

"And how is young Bethany?" Leliana asked, ending the silence – imagined on her part – between them. "She was always such a sweet girl."

Damian looked up, smiling. "Hardly a girl anymore." Leliana inclined her head in acknowledgement. "She is well," the Champion continued. Then she turned back to her letter. Leliana could see her lips moving, but could not read them at this angle.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said, and the Champion looked back to her. "You might know I am deaf. I read lips well, but I must be able to _see_ them."

"Oh! You're right, of course! I knew, but I am unused to… never mind. Bethany is well. She has finally accepted her Maker-given gifts, and she and Oghren make quite the sparring partners. His immunity to magic makes them an incredible duo."

Leliana smiled. "It was true for him and Solona, as well. They made quite the fighting force during the Blight."

Hawke considered her for a moment. Finally, she spoke again. "How was it we never met in Lothering? My understanding is you were there nearly three years before the Blight. You would have been there while Solona was with us, but you didn't meet until after she was a warden."

Leliana hesitated to answer, but she was trying to be less secretive with information that did not need to be kept secret. And this information, with this person, need not remain in shadow.

"When I first arrived, I… sequestered myself. I believe you were gone with the army? It was not until after Solona left that your mother found me at prayer in the Chantry, and began to draw me out." Leliana paused, knitting her brows. "Learning of her death was painful for us both. I am sorry you have lost so much."

Hawke heaved a sigh. "It's all right. I still have Bethany. It's more than most." But it did not look all right. Leliana recognized the look in the Champion's eyes. It was a look shared by Solona, Cassandra, and the Inquisitor: she had lost much, and the scars were there upon her heart, upon her soul.

Hawke's eyes snapped to a point behind Leliana. At the same moment, Bella's ears perked, and the mabari turned. Leliana followed suit, seeing Cassandra's dark hair appear at the stairs. She pursed her lips. She'd known this was coming when Cassandra insisted she speak with Varric and Solona. Hopefully the spymaster wasn't in for a lecture. _She wouldn't dare._

"Hello, Cassandra," she greeted.

The Seeker was stiff as she came to a halt, just at the top of the stairs. "Leliana. Champion."

"What brings you all the way up here, Cassandra?"

"I wished to speak with you. Privately," the Right Hand added, eyes shifting to Damian for a moment.

Leliana nodded and turned, denying Cassandra the ability to say more and be "heard" by the deaf spymaster. It was a subtle thing, but it allowed Leliana to retain some control. "We can speak on the balcony. Ser Hawke, please continue with your correspondence. I will return shortly."

She turned, once out in the chill air of Skyhold, unsurprised to see Cassandra just closing the door, having indeed followed as instructed. "What did you need, Cassandra?"

The Seeker's lips moved wordlessly for a moment, jaw clenched. She was still obviously upset. Finally, words formed in the movement of her lips. "You must tell me why you kept Hawke's messages from me."

"I _must_?" Leliana raised a brow. "You make demands of me now?"

"I must know why, Leliana. I must know, because right now I do not know if I can trust you."

Leliana knit her brows. She was fighting the desire to respond in anger. A quick, sharp-tongued response almost always shut down anyone who questioned her actions, her motives. But this was not just anyone; this was Cassandra. The last time she had thought the Seeker meant ill, the truth had revealed that Cassandra actually had Leliana's wellbeing at the forefront of her mind. She had returned from Haven with Solona in tow, well-ahead of the newly-recruited mages, just so that Leliana would have her love returned to her as soon as was possible.

She did not wish to silence through fear and anger the one who thought so highly of her.

"I had no motive in this, Cassandra," she finally said. "Hawke left instructions of her whereabouts only for Solona – I could not decipher them. The letters themselves were notes to a dear cousin, not for anyone else's eyes. If I had been able to find the Champion, I would have told you immediately."

Cassandra's face flushed, and she turned, pacing away and back a few times, clearly regaining control of her prodigious temper. Leliana understood. It was yet another way Cassandra and Solona were alike, though she would never dare to say such to either of them. Their relationship was such that both would despair to learn of any similarity.

Finally, the Seeker calmed, turning back to Leliana. "Truly? You would have come to me if you had information I might need?"

"Cassandra, of course. Why do you doubt?"

"Your time without Solona… we have become distanced, Leliana. We used to work closely. You kept only that from me which you knew the Right Hand would not be able to ignore, but which must also be allowed to occur. I did not begrudge you your necessary secrets. But in the last year and more… you have grown cold and distant, Leliana. Solona is returned to you now. Can we not go back to the way we were? I have been patient, but I fear a permanent rift between us."

Leliana did not know what Cassandra injected into her tone. She had been denied that form of communication for many years. In its stead, she was a master at reading even the most minute of changes in one's features.

Cassandra had none. She stood with her shoulders squared, her back straight, and her face neutral: a posture of utmost professionalism. And yet she spoke of them as friends, not mere colleagues.

Leliana took a step closer, then another, moving until she could reach out and touch Cassandra's cheek. There, on each side, was a deep scar, taken in exchange for Leliana's life. The spymaster remembered the day well, three years before. The Divine and her entourage had been beset by bandits out on the road between Valence and Val Royeaux.

 _Leliana and Cassandra both push themselves from Most Holy's carriage. The fighting is quick and brutal, the force they face large. Their forces number less, but their skill is greater, with the Seeker, the former bard, and a squad of templars to protect the Divine. It is over quickly, but it was been many years since Leliana has seen an actual battlefield, and not merely the sparring ring. She does not hear the man creep up on her – how could she? – and it is all Cassandra can do to shove the Left Hand out of the way. She takes the blades meant for Leliana's back upon her face, and they cut_ _ **deep**_ _before she can fall and roll out of the way._

 _Leliana kills the man, then tends to her friend, stitching her back together after forcing her to drink just enough to dull the Seeker's wits. They number no mages; Solona did not leave her clinic for this quick trip to Valence and back. When they return to Val Royeaux, Solona is able to heal much of the damage Cassandra took, but the wounds have been present for days, so these scars remain._

 _Forever a testament to Cassandra's character._

Letting her hand drop, Leliana found Cassandra's warm brown eyes. "I miss you, too, Cassandra. I am… sorry."

A hand found hers, the other hand gripping the Left Hand's shoulder. Few would dare such close contact. She was pleased that Cassandra still dared.

They turned and made their way back into the rookery together. She could almost feel the excitement rolling off of Cassandra. She wished to speak with the Champion. Leliana smirked. _Clearly her admiration has not dwindled_.

* * *

Damian was waiting when Leliana came back in from the door she'd taken the Seeker through.

"I'm through my message," she said, holding it out.

Leliana took it, swiftly folding it and adding it to the outstretched foot of one of the many fearsome birds of prey which littered the floor with the waste that crunched underfoot. The drafty rookery was at least well-ventilated, enough to not hold much of a smell, making it infinitely preferable to the stables.

 _I should go check on the horse. She is a beauty. I need to make sure they're taking care of her properly…_

"Now all you need do is tell the bird where to go," Leliana said.

Perplexed, Damian did so, standing and watching as it flew through one of the many high windows just beneath the eaves that supported the roof.

"If you wouldn't mind, Champion," the Seeker said, getting Damian's attention. "Might we speak for a moment?"

Hawke narrowed her eyes. She didn't trust the Seeker. But she knew refusing would do her no favors. "All right," she said. "I was about to make my way to the stables to check on my horse. Care to accompany me?"

"This would be acceptable."

The Seeker didn't speak, however, until they were in the great hall of the keep. Signs of construction abounded, scaffolding lining the walls and dwarven masons just getting started with the morning's work. _Horse, food, then bed. Maker, but it's been a long night._

"I fear you may have the wrong impression of my intentions, Champion," the Seeker said.

"Please, call me Damian, or Ser Hawke if you must. But I infinitely prefer my own name to that accursed title."

She merely inclined her head. "As it pleases you."

"You were saying?"

The Seeker's short hair ruffled in the chill, stiff breeze as they stepped out of the keep. "I was saying that I fear you have the wrong impression of me, and I wished to do what I can to right it."

"I see," Damian said, beginning to descend the seemingly endless stairs down to the main courtyard. "And what impression do you fear I have?"

"That I came to Kirkwall with an army to find you and kill you."

Damian stopped dead on the stairs at that, speechless as the Seeker turned to look up at her.

"What?"

"You just… well, you're nothing if not direct, aren't you?"

The Seeker huffed the smallest of laughs, barely detectable. _Solona is right. It hardly gets sterner than this woman._ "I see no reason to run circles around the issue."

"Indeed." Damian started walking once more. "You were right."

"Hmm?"

"I did think you were coming with an army to kill me for what I did in Kirkwall."

"Why?"

Hawke shrugged. "Because I chose to defy Meredith's choice of Annulment. Because I protected a blood mage convict. Because my sister is a mage." She paused, smiling. "But mostly because my luck could rightly be described as absolute shit."

That managed to pull another quiet chuckle from the Seeker. Maybe she wasn't so bad as Damian had thought? "Truth be told, Ser Hawke, I admire you."

Hawke nearly stopped dead in her tracks again. "Truly?"

"Yes. You were faced with impossible choices and you managed to identify the true problem and eliminate it, even when you had lost so much to the conflicts of the city, even when one of those true problems was a dear friend. Perhaps I would not have made the same decision as you regarding the blood mage… indeed, I would not. But you were faced with a situation no _Seeker_ has faced in years, and untrained, no less. Your adherence to duty, to doing what must be done despite it only remotely involving _you_ , is admirable. I wish more had the same sense of duty to those around them. It would avert many tragedies."

Damian was quiet for a moment as they walked, eyes traveling the walls of Skyhold. The grounds seemed at the same time quiet, and a flurry of activity. The castle could hold so many more than it currently occupied it, but those few who called the place home worked tirelessly to restore its facade, the holes in the mighty stonework, the wooden terraces in the towers. She grinned when she realized that one of only two complete wooden structures was the tavern. _My kind of priorities. I bet it's better than the swill at The Hanged Man…_

Finally, she stopped in the middle of the courtyard, turning to face the shorter Seeker. "What was your plan, if you had found me in Kirkwall?"

"To ask you to _lead_."

 _That_ surprised Damian more than anything so far. "To lead?"

"Yes. You were to lead this Inquisition. The mages knew of you, championing their cause. The templars, in Kirkwall at least, trusted you, having fought beside you against Meredith. You were the only unifying figure outside of the Chantry. The Divine, Leliana, and myself all agreed that _you_ would be the ideal one to lead this Inquisition, not any of us." The Seeker paused, pursing her lips. "Of course, we did not know that we would need someone to close the rifts. The Inquisition's purpose was to bring order to the chaos of the mage-templar rebellion."

"And then Corypheus came and pissed on _everything_." Damian smirked at the distaste on the Seeker's face. "Lucky the Herald showed up when she did."

To her surprise, the Seeker's expression softened. "Yes. She was… precisely what we needed." Her eyes snapped to Damian, hardening once more. "But at the time, _you_ were the one I thought we needed. I went to Kirkwall seeking your location, and proof of all you had done, all you had accomplished."

Now it was Damian's turn to frown. "Yes. And you treated my friend rather badly in order to obtain that truth."

The Seeker failed to look properly chastised at Damian's tone. "I am a Seeker of Truth and Right Hand to the Divine. I must be as unyielding in seeking the truth as the truth is elusive in being sought. Perhaps Varric did not deserve my rough treatment, but the world was falling apart, the situation desperate. I do not regret trying to put it back together. Lives were at stake. His hurt feelings were a price I was willing to pay."

"Really? You would torture innocents?"

She was returned a patient look. "Please, Ser Hawke-"

"Damian, Seeker."

"Yes, fine, Damian. And I am Cassandra. Did Varric tell you I tortured him?"

"You interrogated him."

"Yes. I interrogated him, and then insisted he come to Haven to speak with the Divine. I may have threatened violence, but not at any point did I strike him, or participate in any other techniques of torture. I find the practice reprehensible. I sought the truth, not to break him."

Damian stood quietly. If this was all true… then she fled for no reason. Everything she thought was true about the Seeker was false, and leaving Kirkwall to save the citizens was for naught. She couldn't have stopped the explosion at the Conclave, nor the Breach, but there had been no true reason for her to leave the city at the time

Finally, she spoke, having decided to give the Seeker a second chance. "Break fast with me, Cassandra. I would know more of your side of things."

"You believe me over Varric?"

Damian laughed, throwing an arm around Cassandra's stiff shoulders and turning her, leading her in the direction of the tavern. Clearly, she was uncomfortable with the physical familiarity. "I'll be the first to admit that Varric, at best, is prone to embellishments in his stories when it serves his needs…"

* * *

Josephine was so excited she could simply dance. Though she did not _actually_ dance. She was very much unlike most of her countrymen in her reservation in public. But internally, she veritably _squealed_. Everything was going so well!

"What is it, Josie?" Revka called, smiling over at her from her desk. They shared an office, as they had in Haven, their writing tables flanking the plush red carpet that led from the main hall through to the War Room. It was symbolic, in that any decision concerning troop movement had to be made after walking through the diplomatic arm of the Inquisition. But it was also highly convenient: anyone who made their way to the War Room would be seen by at least one of the diplomats first. Their operations could hardly be more transparent than that.

But strategy was not on Josephine's mind at the moment. No. She had sent out couriers to Orlais, and should be hearing back by messenger bird any day now. That, and she had received great news in their fight against Corypheus upon the conclusion of the meeting with the Champion.

This was the news she shared with Revka. The other news was for herself only. Herself, and Ser Cauthrien, the only person she trusted with her personal information.

"I received invitations to the Winter Palace!" she said excitedly.

"Truly? That's wonderful news, Josie!" Revka said, beaming over at her. Normally, the younger of the Amell sisters would have found her feet and rejoiced with Josephine with an embrace, but the woman's size limited even simple things like getting in and out of seats. Josephine did not blame her, though. It certainly _looked_ uncomfortable to be that large. And by anyone's count, she was only eight months along. What would happen when she spilled over into the ninth month?

"Yes, yes, I know!"

"Have you told anyone else?"

Josephine shook her head. "Not yet. I only just finished reading the missives. They are… well, very Orlesian."

"So interminable."

Josephine shook her head, chuckling. "Indeed. I shall call a meeting in the War Room. Sutherland?" The young man, one of the many squires that had joined the Inquisition and served as her messengers within Skyhold, looked up from his place at the door. "I need to call a meeting with the Inquisitor, Commander Rutherford, and Sister Nightingale."

"Aye, m'lady. When?"

"As soon as they are able. Let us say… on the next candlemark."

He was off without another word.

Forty minutes later, the five of them were gathered in the War Room.

"From the report on the future our Inquisitor prevented us from experiencing," Josephine started, nodding toward the white-haired elf, "we know that an assassination awaits the Empress of Orlais."

"We also know a demon army lies in wait to sweep across the country," Cullen said, shaking his head. "This scares me far more."

"Indeed. But as we do not currently have any _leads_ on that."

That got the commander's attention. "You have a lead for the empress?"

"Yes," she said, nodding, trying hard to keep her smile merely pleased, and not smug. "I have managed to secure invitations to Hilamshiral for the masquerade in two weeks' time."

"Two _weeks_?!" Leliana exclaimed, her pale red brows knit over her blue eyes. "That is hardly enough time to _get_ there, let alone with the proper wardrobe!"

"Yes, it is fretfully little time, I agree. But it is the perfect opportunity for an assassin to strike, with both Briala and Gaspard invited for peace talks, so we really should have a presence there."

"I apologize for interrupting," Zanneth said, getting Josephine's attention from her possibly over-excited explanation. "But could we perhaps explain this for the Dalish in the room?"

"Ah. Right. Of course, Inquisitor. Where to start…"

"Orlais is in civil war," Cullen said. "Grand-Duke Gaspard is in open rebellion against the empress."

Zanneth's white brows furrowed over her dark eyes. "Why?"

"Because he is older, and thus was heir-presumptive to the throne."

"But Celene maneuvered around him and claimed the favor of the Council of Heralds, so she is empress," Josephine said. "Gaspard was placed at the head of the empire's armies."

"And he was a chevalier himself, so the chevaliers all support him," Cullen continued. "The empress is seen as anti-military, since her concentration has been on peace-talks."

"But the empress has also thrown the elves of her nation to the wolves in her attempt to retain power, and Briala takes offense to this," Josephine countered. "It is… a difficult situation, to be sure."

"There are whispers," Leliana said, breaking her silence, "that Briala is a jilted lover of the empress, and organizes the elves because of this. _Not_ because of a great need for her people to be free."

"As I said, it is a difficult situation," Josephine said, smiling.

"I'm afraid I'm going to need a lot more than just that." Zanneth moved forward, looking at the map of their forces - centered in Skyhold at the moment, since it was still winter and most paths through the mountains were at best dangerous, and at worst impassable. "But I can see what you mean. No one is guiltless, except perhaps Gaspard?"

"Do not think him blameless," Leliana said, her tone hard. "The chevaliers are merciless. On top of that, Gaspard plunged the country into civil war amidst the mage-templar war with no regard for the common citizen. His selfish need to be emperor _now_ has made most of the countryside of Orlais a warzone, when coupled with the Seeker and Templar Orders seeking out mages in the homes of the citizenry. If he had but waited until we resolved this conflict… but no.

"Celene is too soft," Leliana added. "While Gaspard is too hard. But if I had to pick… I am not sure. Gaspard would be a strong leader. His desires are plain, for all to see. He does not play the Game. This might be necessary in an Orlesian ally to a Dalish Inquisitor. But it makes me uneasy that we would be unable to control him in any way."

"We can discuss who to support later," Josephine said. "For now, we must stop the assassination of the empress. Or at least _be there_ so that we can have some measure of control, whatever happens."

A knock came at the door. They all turned, Leliana after the others as she could not hear. They should not be disturbed unless it was truly urgent. What could it be?

Revka went to the door, conferred briefly with someone, and then came back. "Josephine, it is urgent, and it is for you."

Pursing her lips, Josephine turned to the room. "Please continue explaining the political situation in Orlais. I will be back shortly."

She left the room as Revka began the lengthy process of detailing what happened when the last emperor died. Out in the hall stood Ser Cauthrien, her hair in its customary braid, a warrior's leathers covering her from head to toe, an Inquisition tabard completing her outfit. Josephine very much approved of the look.

"Aisling?" Josephine said. "What is it?"

"Josephine, I… I opened it, I'm sorry. I assumed it would be the good news you were hoping for." The knight who served as Cullen's second-in-command held out a rolled parchment. "It was the bird you'd sent with the couriers."

Josephine's heart jumped as she took the sheet of paper. Aisling's hand trembled, her face showing dismay and not joy. She unrolled the parchment, and inside she found…

Blood.

The parchment was one of her original documents, meant to reestablish trade in Orlais within the city limits of Val Royeaux, splashed with the messenger's blood. She knew it was his, for stuck within the dried gore was the card, with her family seal upon it, identifying him as a representative of the Montilyet family.

Her couriers were dead. She had their blood on her hands.

Her plans to save her family from destitution were ruined.


	5. Teaching The Rabble

Solona walked briskly through the grounds. She was still irritated with Cassandra's outburst, but she had a tiny, thoroughly obnoxious voice in the back of her head, telling her that the Seeker wasn't entirely wrong. Varric had lied. For good reason, but Cassandra's duty as a Seeker of Truth and Right Hand of the Divine had been thwarted by a lying rogue with a crossbow likely named after a much-admired strumpet from his youth. Solona liked him a great deal, but she could see Cassandra's point of view, as well.

And it pissed her off.

She had not yet broken her fast, but she had duties to see to before she could do so. They had been delayed with Damian's arrival, and they could not be delayed even further. Her patients could not wait.

The grounds of Skyhold were massive. In every corner were tucked fruiting vines to feed its inhabitants. The open courtyards had been set up as drill yards early on, but far away from the main keep were gardens full of every manner of fruit and vegetable. Solona was constantly in awe of the magic of this place, keeping the harvests ripe, the food and drink in the cellars fresh, and grounds temperate. And time had only increased the veritable miracle of their safe haven: the garden was small, the harvests not large enough to feed its denizens… except that, every morning, the plants veritably dripped with large, ripe fruits and vegetables, and everyday they harvested every bit of it.

They had enough stores now to feed a force twice their size for several months. Which was a very good thing, as people were starting to find their way to Skyhold, swelling the Inquisition's numbers. Many of them were injured when they arrived, some malnourished, while others suffered from the cold of the mountains. But the Inquisitor had closed the Breach in the sky, and, thanks to a few well-placed messages from Josephine and Revka to various nobles throughout Orlais and Ferelden, pilgrims came to pledge their service to the Inquisition. In return, the Inquisition fed and cared for them.

Solona took it upon herself to care for their wounds, their frostbitten flesh, their malnourished children, and their pregnant bellies.

She walked now into the barracks off the garden that she had set up as her clinic. The windows could be opened for ventilation, and each side of the long hall had a great hearth to warm bodies and cook food. The floor was covered by many carpets, combating the chill of the flagstones. Cots had been built – the magic in the grounds did not seem to extend to the furniture, and all wood had been found rotted and unusable – and now lined the walls, forty beds in all. She wished for more, but this humble beginning more than met her needs for the moment.

Her patients were mostly those who came to her too weak to withstand the sort of healing magic she performed, or with injuries magic simply could not heal. She kept them here until they were strong enough to join their families, or to join the general barracks-style sleeping arrangements that had been set up for those without families. Some would die; Solona could not save every soul. But many just needed dedicated care, hearty meals, and a listening ear. Solona could provide that. And once they were strong enough, she would attempt to heal what she could. The rest… dying in comfort was better than most were able to enjoy. And she could give them that.

Solona went straight to the hearth, grabbing a poker and stoking the coals to flame. She then stacked several logs of varying sizes so that a low fire might last quite some time while she worked.

As she finished, she heard a strange murmur that did not fit with the usual noises of her clinic.

"Shhh, there, there. Just let it bleed for a minute or two, cool you down."

Frowning, Solona straightened, rinsed her hands in the basin she kept ever full, and headed in the direction of the voice. She found a red haired, rather short woman – though not as short as her Leliana – sat at the bedside of one of her child patients.

"What are you doing?"

The woman nearly jumped, turning to face Solona. "I'm sorry?"

"Who are you? What are you doing in my clinic?"

"I… _your_ clinic? I thought this the sick house for the Inquisition?"

"It is. And _I_ run it. Who are you?"

"I am a surgeon, ser." The woman got to her feet. "I came in yesterday. I thought I would share my skills with the Inquisition."

Solona frowned again. "What's in your hand?"

The woman opened her hand to flash a bloodied blade. "I was bleeding the patient, ser. He's fevered."

" _What?!_?" Solona strode forward, gripping the surgeon's collar. "You're bleeding my patient?!" It was barbaric. Solona had seen the practice. This surgeon would drain precious blood from her patient in order to "cool" him. The mage shoved the woman away from her. "Charlatan. Get out."

"But ser! Science is th-"

" **Out!** "

The voice that issued from her lips had many tones, and she knew that the surgeon would see her eyes glowing in the dimly lit hall. She didn't care. She _meant_ to frighten the woman. Channeling her arcane energies had a tendency of doing that.

"Oh! A mage!" The surgeon backed away, then turned and ran. "I shall find the Seeker at once! A mage should not watch over the sick!"

Solona had no time to run the woman down or debate her. Cassandra might be angry for the moment with Solona, but she would never run her out of Skyhold on the word of this frightened "physician." _Let her try_. _I have saved Cassandra's skin many a time. She would not be rid of me even if she wished me gone._

Turning, the mage knelt at the child's side. His arm was laid over a wooden bowl. His elbow was sliced, the cut deep, and the bowl already had more blood than Solona was comfortable with. _I wasted precious time arguing with her_. Murmuring the words which concentrated her magic, Solona healed the cut. She could not replace the blood, but she could prevent more from escaping.

Next she worked to reduce his fever. The boy was perhaps seven or eight, an orphaned elven boy who wandered in with travelers off the road. She had yet to determine what was wrong with him, but he had not been feeling well since he came to Skyhold three days before. Leaning over the unconscious child – likely due to the blood loss – Solona listened to his breath.

There. A slight _crackle_ on the inhale. He had pneumonia. That would cause him to be feverish. It would also elude her abilities until it had taken firm hold and she could hear it, as she could now.

"You threw her from here. She wanted to help, but she doesn't know enough."

Solona looked up to see the strange boy, Cole, sitting on the head of the cot. She narrowed her eyes. "She is an idiot."

"She knows no better. You could make her know better. Her, and those like her."

"Speak plainly, Spirit. What do you mean?"

"You can see what they cannot." Suddenly, he was standing at her side. She was used to this ability of his by now, but it would never _not_ be startling. Cole pointed, holding the tip of his finger over the child's heart. "You know what's inside. You can see what they cannot. You can repair it because you know how it ought to look. The others stumble in the dark. You can be their light."

Then he was gone. Solona knit her brows. It was true. She had discovered with Wynne that she could channel her arcane energies and "see" the anatomy of a person by pooling magical energy within, stretching out her awareness to the places where energy gathered. She knew what a healthy person's body looked like, and she could see what needed to be repaired. She could not fix every affliction in this way, but even many of those she could not fix she could still _see_.

But how to make others see?

 _Perhaps diagrams?_ she thought. _No. I am absolute shit at drawing._

"Solona, I see you're here with your patients, as per usual."

The arcane warrior refocused her eyes to find that Vivienne had entered the hall. Shaking her head, Solona turned back to her patient. She could do nothing for him until he awoke. Then she could begin to draw the fluid from his lungs with potions and vapors. It would not be pleasant, nor quick, but he _would_ get better. Until then, she pulled his blanket up to his neck. The loss of blood would cause him to be chilled.

Standing, she took up the bowl of blood. _Such a waste_.

"Your singularly unique brand of magic is not enough?" Vivienne watched her with a raised brow and an upturned nose. "You must steal blood from elven children to perform blood magic?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Solona scoffed. "That woman I ran out of here decided to take it upon herself to treat my patient. By bleeding out his fever."

"Barbaric," Vivienne agreed, nodding. "My dear, I wondered if you might be willing to take someone under your care. As a personal favor to me."

"And why should I do you a favor?"

"Because, my dear. With you unable to accompany the Inquisitor, with your magic neutered by Corypheus, us mere mortal mages need step in to assist her instead. With you stuck here, you're surely able to take on _one_ additional patient?"

Solona pursed her lips. She did not miss the implication, nor the slight against her. But what could she say? It was true. Solona could not pursue Corypheus, even though he had sought her out initially. She could not risk being crippled as she had been in Haven. Staying in Skyhold was the only option. The magic here meant Corypheus would never dare attack them outright. She didn't know how she knew… but she also knew it was unequivocally true. She was safe here. And she could do a great deal here.

She wasn't the hero of this tale. She would stay, and support Leliana, and tend to the sick who came into her care.

Swallowing her pride, Solona nodded. "I will care for anyone who comes onto these grounds."

"Of course, dear. I merely wished to-"

"It is someone important to you?"

The former First Enchanter blinked, looking affronted at being interrupted. Solona smirked as she regained her feet, moving to check on her other patients. Most just needed to break their fast and to bathe, but here and there, she murmured the words needed to either heal a newly uninfected wound or to provide comfort. Vivienne trailed behind her. Solona did not fail to notice that at no point did the woman offer to _help_.

"I… yes. Someone important will be coming. His son is here, a visiting noble from Orlais, to meet with our ambassadors, the Ladies Montilyet and Amell-"

"I am well aware of what my sister does here," Solona snapped, already tiring of Vivienne's posturing. _I swear, she does not know how to speak without such armor_.

"Of course." Looking sour, the other mage continued. "The noble in question, the heir to the du Ghislain title, tells me that his father's health declines. I told him I would speak to you on his behalf."

Solona turned, narrowing her eyes. The Duke du Ghislain… "You are his mistress, are you not?"

Vivienne's eyes flashed. "I see no reason why that should matter here."

Solona reached out her hand, taking a gentle hold of Vivienne's shoulder. It was much like trying to touch an angry, wild beast. But Solona had faced dragons and bested them. Vivienne could not scare her, no matter how imperious her demeanor. It was part of why the two of them got on so poorly.

"I am sorry," she said. "I had no idea your love was in poor health. It must be maddening to be away from him." She let her hand drop, watching as Vivienne, who had immediately stiffened upon contact, relaxed slightly. "Do you know what is wrong?"

"I do not know the healing arts," Vivienne said, pursing her lips. "And he refused to be seen by anyone while he could still stand under his own power. That is no longer the case, so his son _insists_ he see a skilled healer. Only the best will do, and _you_ , my dear, are the best."

Somehow, the proclamation felt more like a concession, rather than a compliment.

"Bring him here, Vivienne. I will do all I can for your love."

Solona watched as relief overtook the perpetually smug features of the First Enchanter. "I… thank you, my dear."

"You are welcome, Vivienne." She left unsaid that the other woman need not ever have been so nervous to speak with her about this. Vivienne could stand to make herself vulnerable from time to time, and Solona was a safe person to do that with.

Vivienne left immediately after that. Perish the thought of sticking around to care for anyone outside her own lover. Magic was not necessary with most. They simply needed food, water, and help getting some exercise.

But Vivienne was not truly concerned with anyone who could not help her in her endless social climb. Madame de Fer would never concern herself with these sick commoners, elves and humans alike.

Irritated once more, Solona went back to her work caring for the patients no one else seemed to be concerned with.

* * *

Cullen stood in the marshaling yard. Well, one of several. Skyhold was large, but the space was utilized differently from any castle or keep he had ever served in. Empty space existed, but only in small clumps. They were large enough to serve for training, but with his troops swelling once more, he found himself having to set up many smaller areas that he would check on throughout the day. It was a bit more walking around than was traditional for a commander, but he appreciated the opportunity to move, rather than just standing and yelling from the front of the yard.

He stood now watching those men and women perfecting their skill with a short bow. Those whose skill exceeded the basics would be combed from the rest, training with the Inquisitor with longbows. She took them out in small groups of five or less, teaching them to hunt, to track, to survive the snow and the cold, and how to track and lay traps and remain patient despite the discomfort of the wilderness. Her protection was ensured – Sera and Ser Cauthrien accompanied her at all times outside the walls – and they always returned by sundown. Losing half her ear to frostbite had rather put the Inquisitor off from sleeping out in the snow.

Cullen couldn't blame her. He let Cauthrien and several of the Bull's Chargers do that part of the training. The Inquisitor was nice enough to train their people, elven and human alike, in skills she learned with the Dalish, and personally, no less. He would not ask her to sleep outside in the snow with them, too.

But only those good enough would make it that far. And sadly, it didn't look as though any of those in front of him had the necessary talent to do more than carry a bow into battle. None of these would be the highly skilled scouts they needed. Training on another weapon might yet yield surprises, however. Lancers, pike men, sappers… all were necessary, and required a different aptitude. And those who possessed no special skill were still very much needed in the bulk of their armed forces. It was the way of armies. He would turn no one away if they could perform the basic necessities.

Leaving the drill yard, Cullen made his way next to his office. He just _knew_ there were missives awaiting him. Rather than put it off, he usually chose to get them out of the way early in the day. Then he need not worry himself about them until the next day. Anything requiring his immediate attention would be delivered by one of a number of squires the Inquisition now had. Some were the younger sons and daughters of nobles throughout Ferelden and Orlais. Some were poor orphans who somehow made their way to Skyhold with other pilgrims. All were welcome here. Cullen was happy to enfold everyone, from all walks of life, into his forces. His own father had been a commoner, raised through knighthood, giving Cullen his family name. He knew the value that came out of the lower classes, and the absolute shit often produced by the upper classes.

To his surprise, he found his wife in his office. "Revka?"

"Cullen!" She was in his arms in a heartbeat, her lips on his. Then her lips were on his neck, an onslaught that brought an immediate physical reaction. The fact that he hadn't had the chance to close the door only heightened it for him. Something about the chill breeze, the chance of prying eyes… It made his cock jump immediately to full attention.

"Revka, please!" He tried to push her away, but as he only had one hand, and she had two, he was rather at a disadvantage.

"Just a quick romp!" Revka entreated, grasping the skin of his throat between her teeth. Somehow she managed to reach despite her overly large belly. He was honestly rather impressed.

He wrapped his arms around her back, giving in. A quick morning romp did indeed sound nice. While no less willing, Revka had been less _able_ of late. The mornings remained difficult, though at least his wife was no longer sick and vomiting. Most mornings now Revka would have a lie-in: sunrise and the hours following it seemed to be the best time for her to be able to sleep. She had even given up actually trying to sleep in the evenings, staying up working or merely reading. Cullen had become accustomed to sleeping with a candle lit in the room. It was preferable to having her in her office.

"Oh, I… will go."

Cullen ripped himself away from his wife, grateful her hand had not actually made it inside his trousers just yet, simply stroking him over the fabric. At the open door stood Josephine, Leliana just behind her. The spymaster was grinning, while Josephine's face looked as red as a ripe apple. Clearing his throat, Cullen attempted to get his feet back underneath him.

"I'm sorry, ladies, we were just…"

"Oh, Cullen, honestly." Revka whipped around him. "What did you need, Josie? We were busy."

"I could see that. We just wished to go over the wardrobe for the Winter Palace," the ambassador said, hesitating only for a moment. "It can wait, however…"

"I think the mood is rather well broken, don't you?" Revka eyed the front of Cullen's trousers, and he immediately grabbed the stack of parchments on his desk and dropped them as subtly as has he could managed in front of his quite obvious arousal. "Shall I accompany you to our office, then?" Revka continued.

"Actually… we wished the commander's opinion, as well."

That got Cullen's attention away from his stack of papers. "What? Me?!"

"I agree. His fashion is atrocious." Revka turned to him. "No offense, Cullen."

"None taken." He cleared his throat. "You want my advice?"

"Yes," Leliana said, stepping into his office. She left the door open. He knew from experience she preferred as much light as possible in a room, so as to see all lips working.

He shook his head, bemused, to see a black and white cat following her into his office. It was the same cat he'd seen toddling around as a kitten in Haven. Against all odds, it had made it to Skyhold. Flanking the cat were the great mabari, Bella and Max. What a strange woman…

"We wished to have all members, male and female, wear some kind of uniform, so that we are agents of the Inquisition first, before any other thing." Leliana idly stroked the top of one of the hounds' heads as she continued. "We want a united front. We want to be impervious to the Game, to exist outside courtly intrigue in the minds of those in attendance."

" _Clothing_ says all this?"

All three women pinned him with a mix of sardonic stares and patient amusement in their smiles.

"Yes, Cullen. Yes, it says all that," Revka said. Pointing at his desk, she continued. "Sit down. We have a lot of work to do."

"We do?" he said, obediently finding a seat. He knew why she was insistent. It would help hide his… problem, which was refusing to go away. Not with his wife's lovely arse shown to such good advantage in the dark red hose she was wearing.

"Yes. You'll be wearing it, too, Cullen. Everyone will, including yourself and your soldiers. Wouldn't you like to have a say in what they're seen in?"

He sighed, nodding. He didn't want to have _no_ say. He just didn't want to be here for the likely _hours_ they would spend on it.

"First," Josephine said, "I think we should use as much of the everyday uniform as we can. How do we feel about an added cape on one shoulder? It is quite _dashing_ , especially on the gentlemen…"

Cullen sighed once more. This was going to take a _very_ long time.

* * *

"What're ya doin'?"

Solona smiled at Sera, who always came by in the evening, after returning from her time out in the woods in the valley below with the Inquisitor, training their scouts. She heard the city girl was gaining a fair grasp of maneuvering through the woods, right along with the scouts. And in return, Zanneth was learning how to fight light on her feet during morning and evening sparring sessions. And when they were through, _both_ of them typically came by to help Solona with her patients.

"Where's Zanneth today?"

"Oh, Inky's been summoned by the amb-arse-adors."

Solona sniggered. "Amb-arse-adors? Inky?"

"Yeah! Inquisitor. Inky. Ya like it?"

"It's certainly clever. I bet Josie hates it."

"The 'erald, too!" Sera giggled. "Revka barely acted like she 'eard it, though. Didn' phase her at all."

"It takes more than that to ruffle the feathers of an Amell," Solona stated matter-of-factly.

"So ya didn' answer my question."

"What?"

"What are ya doin' there?"

Solona looked down at the journal in front of her. She was attempting to draw what she knew of the anatomy of a hand, but it was looking at best like what a child of ten years might draw.

"Looks like… a turkey," Sera pronounced.

Solona snorted a laugh, shaking her head. "It's supposed to be a hand."

"Nope. Definitely a turkey." Sera plopped herself down on the writing table. "What'choo drawing a turkey for?"

"I'm drawing a _hand_ so that others might know what I know." Solona pushed her chair away, stretching out her legs and leaning the chair back. The sky had grown dark while she worked, and all she'd produced was a turkey. "Who am I kidding? No one will ever learn anything from my piss-poor skills. I need someone who can draw. But I also need to teach them _what_ to draw. It needs to be a mage."

"Hey! Dorian's pretty good, actually. Should ask him. He's even a fair hand at healin'. He patched a couple people up after th' Breach 'n everythin'. And he's good with charcoal, too." Sera sniggered before adding, "Fat lot better'n _you_."

"Why you little..." Solona reached out to deck the elf on the shoulder, but she was too slow. Sera launched herself forward, tackling Solona off the chair. There was a crash as her seat hit the ground, followed by the crack of Solona's _head_ on the stone. They ended with Sera astride her chest, pinning down her hands.

"Gotcha!"

Solona sighed. "You _are_ aware I could set my whole body aflame and you would lose, yes?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I won. Fair and square. Bringing magic in is _cheatin_ '."

"Fine. You win. Get off."

Sera hesitated a moment, but then was on her feet. The elf was slight enough that her weight was no great burden – Leliana weighed more, and was on top of Solona more often than not, especially during their more spirited lovemaking – but she was nevertheless grateful not to have that weight sitting on her chest any longer.

"So. Dorian, you say?" Solona frowned. They had avoided interacting much of the winter, though it wasn't purposeful. They merely haunted different places. Though, if she had to guess, it was _he_ who avoided _her_. Given that he had been the one to drug her and hand her over to Alexius, and had spent every moment since trying to make up for his mistake, she could hardly blame him.

"Aye, Dorian. Fancy-pants spends his time readin' in the library."

Solona grinned. "Let's pay him a visit, shall we? I do ever so much want to remind him of his mistakes."

Sniggering, Sera agreed, skipping out of the sick house and making her way for the keep. Solona jogged to catch up.

They did indeed find Dorian in the library, pouring over several tomes with Fiona.

"Dunno what to think 'bout 'er," Sera whispered. "Seems like she'd be all elfy, but she worked 'gainst Alexius when the mages were bein' twats. Worked to save everyone, not just elfy mages."

"Sounds like you know just what to think about her," Solona mused.

"Shut it, you," Sera snapped, sticking out her tongue like a child. Solona laughed.

"I hope that's a laugh at some jape, and not the diabolical cackle of someone bent on removing my head from my shoulders." Dorian closed the book in front of him, turning in his chair to look at Solona and Sera.

"Not everything is about you, Dorian." Solona crossed the distance between them, noting that while Dorian did not leave his seat, he was definitely tense.

"Well, I would hardly be self-centered if I didn't spin everything to center around myself," he said, raising a dark brow. Sera sniggered. Even Fiona chuckled lightly. Solona just narrowed her eyes. _Smarmy little shit._

"Sera says you have an aptitude for putting image on paper."

Dorian just blinked a few times in answer.

"Don' be shy, Dorian!" Sera said. "Ya showed us that sketch ya did th' other day!"

To Solona's surprise, Dorian _blushed_. "I, yes, well. That wasn't anything important-"

"What was it?" Solona interrupted, a smirk starting to pull at her lips.

"A realistic representation of the, uh… male form," Dorian said, averting his eyes.

"Naked boys!" Sera shouted, collapsing into giggles. "With huge bits!"

Solona snorted. "You draw naked men?"

"Among other things…"

"Can you draw a sumptuous pair of breasts?"

"Maker preserve us," Fiona murmured, trying and failing not to smile as she continued to read her book.

Dorian frowned up at her for a moment. Then, over the course of a few seconds, the frown turned into a grin. "Indeed, I could! Though why you need a picture when you have such a fine specimen in your bed every night is beyond me."

Solona guffawed. Slapping him on the back and shaking her head, she said, "You're all right, Dorian."

"Thank you?"

"And I have a proposal for you."

"Oh?"

"You are accomplished at the healing arts, yes?"

"Yes, I am," he said, smoothing out some invisible wrinkle in his tunic. He had not worn robes common in Tevinter since relinquishing them to Leliana in that future he and Zanneth had experienced. The choice interested Solona. Perhaps someday she could ask him about it.

"Well. How would you feel journeying into the Fade with me?"

"I'm… wait, you can do that?"

Solona nodded.

"To be in the Fade with my conscious mind… I haven't done that in a long while," he said, turning surprisingly earnest eyes on her. "I haven't had the lyrium available since leaving Alexius's tutelage."

"What are you planning, Solona?" This was Fiona, finally giving up the ruse of reading and including herself in the conversation.

Solona sighed, leaning against the railing. Below, she knew Solas spent his time adding to the murals upon the walls of the atrium, telling the tale of the Breach and the razing of Haven. He was not there at the moment, however. Solona had no idea _where_ he was or what he did when he wasn't in the atrium. He did not involve himself in the day-to-day goings-on of the Inquisition, nor in continuing the education of the mages. This irritated Solona. She would need to bring it up when she sought him out for the help he had offered that morning.

"I had an experience with a 'surgeon' this morning. She bled one of my patients." Both Dorian and Fiona cringed as she continued. "Cole, strange as he is, showed up and had an excellent suggestion. He said they don't see what I see. I know anatomy down to the smallest detail. But I can't transfer that knowledge to paper; I lack the skill. I need someone I can teach, who is skilled with charcoal and parchment, so that others might learn even if _I_ can't teach them."

"An anatomy text?" Fiona touched her finger to her nose as she thought. "It is quite an idea. There is so much..." She cocked her head to the side. "Is it something we can learn?"

Solona smiled. Yes, Fiona was indeed including herself. "Aye. I learned from Wynne, a master healer from the Ferelden Circle. She… was like a mother to me in the end, and a casualty of the Blight." Even now, ten and more years after the end of the archdemon, Wynne's death stung. But the arcane warrior could at least say the woman's name without choking up. Alistair naming his first-born after the mage had helped tremendously with that.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't be averse to learning from the new master-healer," Dorian said, looking thoughtful. He then got a twinkle in his eye. "Especially with Fiona there to protect me."

Solona snorted. "Fat chance. With me dragging you into the Fade, I'll be in control of it." She grinned at Dorian's immediate discomfort.

"Dorian, it is a wonderful chance to learn." Fione eyed Solona. "I am sure she will not _actually_ take her ire out on you."

Solona let Dorian sit with his discomfort just a moment more before laughing and shaking her head. "No, Dorian, I will not. My aim is to teach, to spread knowledge. I am here asking you to help me do so."

Dorian nodded. "All right. So long as I get to draw the _male_ figure aside those precious bosoms of yours, I'd be happy to help."

Solona laughed again. Despite their history, Dorian was shaping up to be a kindred spirit. Strange how things worked out, in the end.

* * *

 _A/N: Some changes, particularly regarding Sera._

 _First, I decided to walk back the romance between Sera and Krem, for a variety of reasons. Most notably, I never did end up writing any of it from either of their POVs, so the smut/romance came out of left field, and that's just not the right way to do it (and likely part of why some had such a strong and negative reaction to what I was trying - and very much failing - to write). I had always intended to go more into it, to grapple with the issues that might arise in their relationship, but it wasn't happening. So I've decided to walk it back. So, know that Sera is just very good buddies with Krem. Not lovers._

 _Second, Sera is not nearly as afraid of magic here as she is in-game. It just didn't make sense to have her afraid of mages and magic if she hero-worshipped and then became such good friends with Solona. She's still afraid of demons, of the Fade (when we get there) and the rifts, but magic practician doesn't faze her like it does in-game._

 _Okay that's it. I think those are the two major changes. I hope you enjoyed!_


	6. Leaving Skyhold

_A/N: Hey, folks. I'm going to be starting a companion piece to this one to put little scenes and moments I have in my head but don't quite fit in the narrative. So keep an eye out for that (if you subscribe to me as an author and not just this story, you should be notified when I post something new). Some will be humorous, some feels-y, some smutty. There shouldn't be any side-plots though. They'll just be one-shots based in this universe, and during the timeline (roughly) of Forged Through Fade and Flame._

 _Okay, that's it. Onward!_

* * *

Zanneth squirmed, trying to find her seat upon the horse's back. "You're sure I'll be able to do this on my own?" she asked.

"You will be fine," Cassandra said. "You have the least fractious animal we have. Just do as I say and you will not fall."

"I still don't see how you haven't learned to ride yet," Solona commented, sitting easily astride her own animal. "Didn't you go to Val Royeaux _and_ to Redcliffe before closing the Breach?"

"I rode with Cassandra," Zanneth said, frowning over at Solona. "And I do not understand why I cannot simply do so now." She did not mention that the last time she attempted learning, she had steered the horse directly into a Fade rift.

"Because now you are the Inquisitor." Josephine led her horse over, looking very strange in riding trews and boots. Carriages would be secured once out of the mountains, as they had none in Skyhold as of yet. "The nobility of Orlais must see you proud and strong upon your own steed, your Worship. And as you do not yet know how to ride, the journey to the Winter Palace will be the perfect opportunity to teach you."

"Ah, yes. Riding straight and tall through the gates of the Winter Palace, just to have them beat you down to a bloody pulp with their smiles and their sweet words." Solona shook her head. "Fucking Orlesian court. I'll be happy if I never see it again."

Leliana walked up then, looking somewhat startling out of her usual vestments: trousers, shirt, and vest, with her long red hair braided down her back, much like Ser Cauthrien's. Zanneth saw her dressed similarly when they sparred, of course, but that was never where the whole of Skyhold could see her. She approached Solona's horse, took the mage's outstretched hand, and hoisted herself up in front of her lover. Solona glanced up to see the frown on Zanneth's face.

"Sorry! You're the Inquisitor, not me!" the mage exclaimed, grinning.

Zanneth exhaled, pursing her lips in irritation. Then Solona handed the deaf woman the reins and began signing silently. Shaking her head, Zanneth turned her horse without further argument. She understood: with Leliana unable to hear, she would be utterly isolated on horseback. They rode together so that Solona could act as Leliana's ears. The mabari would stay here, so as not to out Leliana to anyone at the Winter Palace. She would be playing the part of a simple Chantry sister serving the Inquisition, as so many did. A simple headdress would hide her identity well enough to those who had known her as Lady Nightingale.

"Is it truly so horrible?" Cassandra asked, moving up alongside her. "You seem proficient already with the basics."

"I know." Zanneth looked around, seeing no one too near, then looked back to her lover, lowering her voice so her words stayed between them. "I just like being close to you. I have become spoiled the last two months. This marks the end of being able to spend our days naked and lounging about."

Cassandra turned a beautiful shade of red, but a smile also pulled at her lips; one of those smiles that rarely saw the light of day, but which Zanneth was lucky enough to see often in the privacy of their rooms. The smile quickly changed to a smirk, barely recognizable as such except that Zanneth had spent so _much_ time studying the details of her lover's expressions.

"You hardly spend your days lounging. You have spent the entire day since sunup taking recruits into the woods practically since we arrived." Her voice dropped, growing very quiet. "You are only mine under the light of the moon, dear one."

An involuntary shiver traveled down Zanneth's spine at the various images Cassandra's words provoked. _Muscles tensing while a whispered laugh travels over my ear; a soft, silken center yielding to my searching fingers; lips parted in a gasp as she finds release_. They had made love just that morning, and yet at merely the suggestion of coupling, Zanneth was ready to drag Cassandra back to bed.

"Come now. I will show you how to direct your horse," Cassandra said, her eyes smiling in a way that showed she knew _exactly_ where Zanneth's mind had gone. "Josephine is right. You must ride through the gates of Halamshiral at our head, as our leader. I would only dwarf you."

Sighing, Zanneth nodded, kicking lightly with her heels as she had been shown to get the small horse she'd been given moving through the gate to Skyhold.

* * *

Ser Aisling Cauthrien frowned down upon the party passing through the gates. Almost everyone she'd become close with was leaving: Leliana, Solona, Revka, Cullen, Cassandra, Zanneth, and her dear, dear Josephine. She stayed behind to oversee the reception and training of their recruits, since Cullen's presence was _required_ at the masquerade, as the commander of the Inquisition's forces, and as advisor to the Inquisitor.

Aisling wasn't happy she couldn't leave Skyhold. It wasn't that she wanted away from the castle, but Josephine would be gone for at least two weeks, probably closer to three, and it would be the longest they had been parted since they had begun courting five months before. She wasn't much for parties, but she wanted to protect her lover, especially given the news Josephine had received.

The poor woman had been devastated when Aisling delivered her the blood-splattered missive she had sent with her messengers. They had been hired, at least – Inquisition blood had not been spilled while delivering personal correspondence for the head of the Montilyet family – but it was hardly a comfort. That any blood had been spilled was a tragedy, especially for something as petty as Josephine wishing to trade in Orlais. She had held herself together in front of her friends and colleagues, but at night, when she retreated to the safety of Aisling's arms, Josephine had wept for several nights.

It wasn't as severe as her initial response to losing Haven had been, but still it reminded Aisling of that dark time, nearly three months before. Every night, Josephine had woken from a terrible nightmare, sweaty despite the chill to the air. And every night, Aisling had been there to hold her, to comfort her, to give her happy thoughts to whisk her back to sleep. The nightmares had stopped, the weeping and the trembling and the guilt for having survived where far too many had perished. But they had been replaced these last few nights by a continual, low-grade worry for her family.

Aisling could not truly understand her worry – her family had been of modest means, farmers near Gwaren, and lost to her in her teen years, a loss that no longer even stung much – and so her words of comfort fell flat. But at least she was _there_. For the next few weeks, Aisling would no longer even be near her lover, would not receive word until one of Leliana's falcons could be sent with news – _after_ the outcome had already been decided. Any nightmares Josephine had would be without Cauthrien there: any worries, any guilty episodes, any danger that might befall her.

Just _thinking_ of that blood-soaked parchment set the knight's heart pounding. It was a clear message: try trading in Orlais, and next time it will be _your_ blood we spill. Someone had a blood feud with the Montilyet family, but Josephine had no idea who it might be. Aisling was almost ready to go out and begin to interrogate people at random, so desperate for a solution was she. She was trained to stamp out any threat presented to her. But this was not a threat she could hit. She was not allowed.

Nor was she allowed to even be near her lover to protect her while that threat was active.

It drove her mad.

Turning, shaking her head, Cauthrien went down to the drill yard nearest the keep, hoping to get out some of her aggression on a harmless dummy. To her surprise, she found the Champion waling away at one of them. No one seemed to have the courage to approach her.

Ser Cauthrien took that step.

"I see you use a great sword. Fancy a matched sparring partner?"

The Champion rested her practice weapon on the ground, leaning against it as she seemed to size Cauthrien up. "Is that a claymore on your back? You certainly have the shoulders for it."

"Aye, something like it."

"All right. Yes, I could use a partner. It's rare I get to spare with someone who can use the same weapon. What was your name?"

"Ser Cauthrien, Champion. But Cauthrien suits me just fine when I'm not addressing my troops." She unbuckled her weapon, leaning it nearby against the low fence.

"Ah, Cauthrien, yes. I've heard your name. You are Cullen's second-in-command, yes?"

Aisling nodded. "Right again." She moved to the supply of practice weapons that was hauled outside daily.

"All right, Cauthrien. And please, call me Hawke. We are nowhere near Kirkwall, and the woman who dubbed me Champion is now a smear upon the cobblestones of that city. The title rings hollow these days."

"I've heard the tales," Aisling said, raising her practice blade, somehow even heavier than the Summer Sword. "I even found a copy of Varric's book. Unbelievable stuff."

"Yes, well. So was the Breach. But you saw _that_ first-hand, yes?"

"True," Aisling conceded, before lunging with her sword.

"Besides. It was written by Varric. He is a confessed liar."

An hour later, both warriors were thoroughly winded, sweat pouring down both their faces. A small crowd had gathered, watching the two women – one taller, one broader – as they attempted to best the other. But they were equally matched, something that had not happened for Aisling in quite some time, at least not with this weapon. She had trained many a recruit to wield a two-handed sword, and she had been bested by skillful combatants like Cassandra and Solona, but never had she found one her match with her weapon of choice. She had even managed to outwit The Iron Bull more often than not.

It was a refreshing change.

"Have you broken your fast yet?" Hawke asked her, seeming not to notice the small crowd that parted for their passing.

"No, I have not. I was… busy this morning." She had been _busy_ saying a prolonged farewell to Josephine, but that was not a detail she would ever share, with _anyone_.

Hawke seemed to catch her meaning, regardless. "Ah, yes. The ambassador, right? Sometimes proper goodbyes can take some time." She got a faraway look for a moment, but shook herself of it rather quickly. "Come. Varric and my cousins left for the masquerade. I find myself robbed of my normal company. Let us break our fast and talk of our women, and become friends. Yes?"

Cauthrien chuckled. "Yes, all right. I'm sure you come across rather interesting women."

"Cauthrien, you have _no_ idea…"

* * *

Green light could just be seen above the snow-covered trees. A painful spark of Zanneth's hand made it clear what it was she saw ahead. She cried out, leaning over the saddle horn atop her horse, holding on for dear life, the pain momentarily incapacitating her. It waned quickly, but the light remained, calling to the rift, wishing desperately to interact with it.

"Inquisitor! Are you all right?"

Zanneth pushed herself back up, already reaching for her bow, strapped to the horse's saddlebags. She looked up at Lady Montilyet's inquiry.

"I am fine. There is a rift in the town ahead. I simply haven't felt that particular pain since closing the Breach." She looked to her side, where Cassandra already had a sword drawn, a wordless answer to the flaring of the Anchor.

"Oh, dear," Josephine replied, face suddenly ashen.

"Bull!" Zanneth called.

"On it!" was the answer. "Krem, let's go!"

Dismounting and handing the reins to Josephine, who was closest, she called out, "Inquisition! Everyone with a weapon, follow me!" There was no sneaking up on a rift, not when her hand called out to it. This rift was near or even _in_ the town they headed for. They could not delay. Unclasping her cloak, Zanneth left it with the horse before beginning to run over the slippery, packed snow of the road.

Winter's grasp was still firm here, but the temperature was climbing. In mere weeks, this packed snow would begin to melt, freezing at night to form a truly treacherous layer of ice for the morning. But for now it wasn't difficult to maintain her footing.

When she had moved some ways away from their non-combatants, Zanneth turned to see who had followed. They had left Skyhold with a small force: her advisors, her inner circle, and an honor guard of twenty Inquisition soldiers. More than enough to handle any rift, even a large one.

"How many of you have seen a rift?" Cassandra asked. Zanneth's eyes traveled from person to person. She was surprised to see that Solona had joined them, sword at her hip and enchanted staff in her hand. So, too, would Cullen be fighting demons, his sword held in his right hand, his left arm tucked firmly into his side, a look of grim determination on his face.

Several hands raised, but most of the soldiers themselves had not seen a rift. It made sense. Most of the rifts Zanneth had closed had been with the help of just a handful of people, mostly her inner circle. It was strange still to think of them that way, but they were certainly those members of the Inquisition to whom she was closest.

"The strategy is simple: the Inquisitor must get close enough to close the rift. Engage any demons or possessed corpses, and help to clear a path for her!" Cassandra called out. Then she turned, pulling her other sword from the sheath on her back and looking to Zanneth. "Lead the way, your Worship." _That_ sounded immensely strange coming out of her lover's mouth.

Zanneth nodded. "Follow me." And she was off, light on her feet as she ran over the slippery snow of the road. A bend in the road led them into the modestly-sized village. Stone buildings were the most common, though some appeared to be made of wood. Zanneth jogged through the streets. Her hand hummed, sparking, sending pain up her arm and shoulder. It had been many months since she had felt this pain. As before, she found that after the initial flare, moving past it was possible: her grip on her bow remained steady despite the searing pain in her palm.

The tension coming from behind her was palpable. Their soldiers were untested, but this right here – closing the rifts, bringing an end to the chaos – was the Inquisition's purpose. These men and women had joined for their own reasons, but ultimately, their goal was the Inquisition's goal. And ending the chaos meant closing rifts in this moment.

The sun had set more even since she first saw the green light above the trees, meaning the rift's light was now visible for all to see. Putting on a burst of speed, Zanneth flew around the corner of a house, speeding through the town square. No one was about, but as she neared the rift, hovering like a fat, lazy beast between two houses on the outer edge of the village, the Herald could see the damage its demons had caused. Some buildings bore claw or scorch marks, and those nearest the rift were entirely uninhabitable, demolished by some manner of beast.

Demons abounded everywhere: sliding along the snow, perched on rooftops, moving lazily inside the frozen fountain. They almost seemed not to notice Zanneth and her party at first, but then the Anchor flared once more, almost blinding the Herald with pain, and then every demon in the area was focused on her.

"Come and get me, shit-bags!" Bull yelled, followed by several whoops: one Zanneth recognized as Sera, another as Dorian, and a third she realized was Cullen. She had no more time to listen for her companions, however: Cassandra at her side, Zanneth let loose an arrow, making the first strike against their opponents.

It had been months since Zanneth had seen battle. But in that time, she had gained weight, muscle, and much more skill with a blade. Stowing her bow, she pulled her short sword from her back. Throughout the winter, Zanneth had sparred with Cassandra, both as her opponent and as her partner. They had practiced enough, in fact, that both knew how to stay out of the other's way. Cassandra had the longer reach, and the skill and training to keep enemies from getting inside that reach. But as Zanneth moved just behind the Seeker, a particularly cunning creature managed to get too close. The Herald was there to counter the beast, jabbing with the point of her sword where the thing's face might be, were it human.

It shrieked, instinctively shying away from Zanneth's blade, giving Cassandra the time to cross her blades and pull, decapitating the demon. They had no time for congratulations, however; they were nearly close enough for Zanneth to close the rift, a fact her aching left hand was informing her of with every searing pulse.

Jumping over the body even as it dissolved, hissing in the snow, Zanneth ran the few yards required, lifting her hand to the sky. As soon as she was in range, the Anchor did its work: a cord of green light jumped from the rift, latching onto her hand as if it were a whip or rope. A great pain seared up from her palm through her shoulder, before being chased back by a soothing warmth. It originated somewhere in her chest, traveling through her shoulder, down her arm, and out her palm as a warm, green light.

It felt different this time. Every other time she had used the Anchor, on rifts and on the Breach, she had been weak, thin, only just having recovered from whatever emergency had last rendered her unconscious. This time, Zanneth was strong, had fat reserves, and was as well-rested as she had ever been.

Zanneth knew as soon as the Anchor activated that she would be the center of attention for all the demons who drew their energy from the Fade through the rift. They were tied to it as she now was. This was the hardest part: knowing she was vulnerable, and being unable to do a thing about it.

But she trusted Cassandra implicitly. The only way something would get to Zanneth now was if the Seeker was dead.

 _A door pounds open. Limbs flop, Cassandra's head at an odd angle; her intestines spill; her body flies through the air._

A great cacophonous explosion rang out. Zanneth could hear it differently in each ear, the sensitivity gone in the right ear when the frostbitten outer shell had been removed. She kept her feet, not even feeling faint this time, as she had every other time she had closed a rift. But she was left unsettled. She had not expected that memory to intrude, to override everything else in her mind. It hadn't haunted her for months.

It was suddenly very important to see Cassandra safe. Turning, she found the warrior sheathing her blades several feet away. Crossing the distance at a run, she hurled herself at her lover, gripping the leather straps of her light armor and pulling the Seeker down into a fierce kiss. This was real. Cassandra was here, alive and hot, blood pounding, hands searching and gripping, pulling them closer together. It was not until the cheers around her erupted that Zanneth realized she had thrown all caution to the wind. She pulled back.

"What was that for?" Cassandra asked, though she beamed, a smile reserved only for victorious moments like this. Any discomfort she'd had in the beginning at being so public was gone.

"I just…" Zanneth shook her head. "You are alive, and here, and I am glad for it."

She was not allowed to explain further, however, as at that moment her soldiers began slapping her on the back. She was drawn away from her lover, shaking hands with every person at least twice. Solona beamed from the sidelines. The horses approached, Leliana and Josephine's eyes alight with something that looked a great deal like hope; Josephine's more open and obvious than Leliana's, but still present in both. Cullen began barking orders. Dorian and The Iron Bull exchanged a kill-count.

A voice rang out in the distance. "Hail! Who comes to Sarnia?! Who saves us?"

"It looks like the townsfolk are near, after all," Cassandra murmured, suddenly and silently at Zanneth's side once more. "Come. You have saved them, _Inquisitor_. You should be the one to answer."

Zanneth groaned, but nodded, finding comfort in the fortifying presence of her lover. Turning, she led the way to the brave man who ventured out from the woods. It was time to see what the people had been doing while the town had a rift squatting in the middle of it.


	7. The Road to Halamshiral

_A/N:_ _A few notes. One, I re-titled the last chapter, since this chapter is **actually** the road to Halamshiral. Two, Raven Sinead is busy with some real-life stuff for a while, so this and possibly the next few chapters will be unbeta'd. Do let me know of any truly egregious errors, and I apologize if the quality slips for not having a fresh set of eyes on each chapter. Three, if you've wondered what's been going on with the rifts, I shall endeavor to explain some of my thought-process on not having Zanneth out in the field much._

 _Basically, the Inquisition is still small, has been stuck in a castle in the mountains all winter, and don't know much yet. As they grow, and their presence is more ubiquitous, they'll have a better idea of just how far-reaching the rifts are. Up until now, the Breach was the main concern. Now the assassination, the demon army, and Corypheus himself are their main concern. But as they grow, they'll be able to handle more than a few things at once._

 _Also,_ ** _boy_** _do I have some plans for after the masquerade!_

 _Okay, here we go. The calm before the storm that is Halamshiral._

* * *

"Your Worship?"

The Inquisitor turned from her seat by the fire, finding Josephine's eyes immediately. "Yes, Ambassador?"

Josephine smiled, apologetic. "I know you must be tired, your Worship. But now that you have had the chance to eat and rest a bit, I hoped I could speak with you on a matter of some urgency, if you do not mind following me." At the flare of alarm in the elf's eyes, Josephine hurried to amend her statement. "Do not worry yourself, your Worship! It is something that I am afraid I neglected to address while we were still in Skyhold, that is all. I apologize for the alarm."

The Inquisitor relaxed, but got to her feet, leaving The Iron Bull's side as he and Sera made some lewd joke or other. Josephine did not stay close enough to find out the details, moving away from the fire toward the main square of the town. _Why we brought him to the Winter Palace…_ Josephine knew why: Bull insisted, as Zanneth's bodyguard, and as one of the inner circle protecting the Inquisitor. The entirety of that inner circle had come: Cassandra, Bull, Sera, Vivienne, Solas, Dorian, and Varric. Bull had promised to be on his best behavior, wisely fearing the wrath not of Cassandra or Josephine, but of Leliana, who would do so much more to him than merely hit him, like Cassandra. Josephine was not well pleased, but given they had already run into a rift, she was glad, in the end, for his presence among their untested soldiers.

The residents of this town, Sarnia, had taken no time at all to move back into those buildings which could protect them from the cold. The demons had not wished for food or material things, so the people's belongings had for the most part not been ruined after the inhabitants fled the rift and its demons. Some walls had been torn down or punctured, but the contents of the homes had not been disturbed except by snow.

Josephine had never seen anything like the closure of that rift. Indeed, she'd never seen a rift, nor the Breach up-close, nor its closure. She had been in Haven for all of it. To see now what it was the Inquisitor could do… she had been shocked. And awed. She still was not quite sure what to think. But the experience had realigned some of her priorities. Corypheus was the main threat, and everything she did must serve the Inquisitor in stopping him.

 _But I must also take care of this threat to myself, to my family. I must find out what is the matter_.

Josephine reached for the pocket inside her waistcoat, brushing her fingers over it. Inside sat the letter from the Comte Boisvert, inviting her for a meeting at the coming masquerade. Indeed, it was through him that she had secured the invitation to be Gaspard's guests. An old family friend, who was just nosy enough to pay attention when couriers were found murdered in back alleys. He had written her not a week after she had received that bloodied letter. He had information for her.

 _I can do both_ , she thought, resolute.

"What was the matter, Josephine?"

Josephine stopped outside the town's commons building. "I have procured the use of the town hall for the night. We must teach you to dance, your Worship, or you will be off to a very bad start at the masquerade."

The elf blinked a few times, the _vallaslin_ pulling with her confused expression. "Dance?"

"Yes." Josephine opened the door, stepping inside. "A large portion of any soiree is the dancing. You will not be expected to dance the entire time, but you should know at least two formal dances. Much posturing and many seductions happen on the dance floor."

A squeak got her attention, and Josephine turned to see Zanneth looking like she had swallowed some manner of insect. "Seductions?"

"Do not worry yourself, Inquisitor. You will not be required to go through with any of them. People will flirt with you, of course, but you will spend most of the evening in the company of your paramour."

"That should dissuade even the most amorous from thinking they can seriously bed you," Revka chimed in, smiling over from the fireside, standing next to her sister. The hall was lit and warm, though when they'd been given entrance the grateful mayor, it had been dark and cold, and the floor had needed sweeping.

"Solona. Revka," Zanneth said, inclining her head. "Are you to learn, as well?"

"Oh, we already know, Zanneth," Solona said, grinning. "We're here to help, to act as your music, and to relieve Josie when she needs it."

Josephine smiled. Solona normally would not leave Skyhold, just as Josephine would likely rarely do so, but the Hero of Ferelden doted upon her very pregnant sister. Where she went while so large with child, Solona would go. Besides, any attack that might come at the Winter Palace was likely to be of the political variety; it was highly unlikely that Corypheus would show his face with his magic-draining orb. Nothing was ever _safe_ , of course, but it was deemed safe _enough_ to risk her presence at court.

Besides. Solona was well known at court. As was Revka, Josephine, Leliana, Vivienne, and even Cassandra – usually dour, in the corner by the Divine, imbibing in no more than a single glass of wine as she glowered at every passerby in her formal Seeker armor. Leliana would revive the role she often played when serving Divine Justinia, hiding in plain sight as a Chantry sister, her uncommon – in Orlais, at least – red hair hidden beneath a simple headdress. It would be the Herald she attended to now, and not the Divine, and she would be well away from her lover's presence so as to mask her identity from those who might recognize the two together. Cassandra would have no such luck. She would be clad in the livery of the Inquisition, and she would be at the Inquisitor's side the entirety of the masquerade, protecting and advising her right alongside Leliana.

"If you will come here, Inquisitor, we can get started," Josephine said, holding out her hands. Zanneth eyed her dubiously, causing Josephine's lips to quirk in amusement. "It is all right, your Worship. I will not bite." _Hard_ , Josephine amended mentally. Aisling rather liked Josephine to use her teeth. The thought sent a shiver down the ambassador's spine.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"If I might interject," Solona said, striding forward. "Why don't we show her what we intend to teach her? The Dalish dance, but it is not partnered, and it is not formal." Solona winked at Zanneth. "The Dalish parties I've been to are a great deal more fun than where we're now headed."

Josephine acquiesced, letting Solona take her up in a quick foxtrot. They did not even need music. Solona was a talented dancer, knowing both the lead and follow of most court dances. Josephine had danced with her many times at various parties, but this would be the first time she did so while carrying on with a paramour of her own. Solona was… different from Cauthrien. She was taller, and leaner, and her shoulders were not so broad, but it was more than just the physical differences. Cauthrien held Josephine with feeling and her touch warmed the ambassador to her core. Solona was a cherished friend, but her touch did not elicit the same reaction.

Still, she was an excellent dance partner, and on more than one occasion Josephine had wished her relationship with Leliana was a bit more flexible. Of course, every time she thought that, Josephine had also remembered the way she met the two of them, and had been secretly glad she would never find out what either of the powerhouses might be like in the bedchamber. That was… a lot of woman to handle all on one's own.

They switched dances, moving into a waltz, keeping it simple for the Inquisitor's benefit. Josephine let her mind wander a bit as Solona led the simple dance. She recalled that she would be sleeping on the ground this night, as accommodations were not readily available in town, as they had expected. Josephine was not above sleeping on the ground – it had been necessary for the three nights between leaving Haven and finding Skyhold – but neither did she cherish the thought. She always awoke sore about her generously proportioned hips, and it was dreadfully cold so close to the frozen ground, especially without her lover present to keep the chill at bay.

But the townsfolk had only been able to reestablish themselves in their homes this night, taking shelter in the very carriages the Inquisition had hoped to procure out in the woods when the rift had drifted through the town. Another week and they might not have needed the Inquisition's rescue, as the rift had actually been moving quite slowly through the center of town even when it was closed.

The carriages were now available, a gift from a grateful citizenry who could now chop the wood to craft more, as this was the main craft produced in this region. But the inn had taken significant damage from the demons of the rift. It was in no shape to house guests at this time.

"There may also be group dances with a set choreography," Solona said, shaking Josephine from her reflection of their evening in Sarnia. "But it is acceptable to bow out of these if you do not know the steps."

"Quite right," Josephine confirmed, separating from Solona with a flourish after yet another turn. She curtseyed, and Solona bowed, and then they both turned to Zanneth.

"We will show you the lead," Solona said. "Then the follow. You will likely need to know both."

"I am told you know your bow and your curtsey," Josephine added. "This is good. A bow if you lead, and a curtsey if you follow."

The rest of the night was spent like this, and while it was unfamiliar to Zanneth, the Dalish huntress was well suited to such graceful movements. Indeed, the woman moved and balanced as well as a cat in the trees. They sent the Inquisitor off to bed exhausted, but well prepared, needing only practice to further etch this new style of dance into her muscle-memory.

* * *

"You look like something is wrong."

Zanneth moved her eyes from the frozen countryside to focus on Cassandra, riding next to her. Many of the others were now in the carriages, their horses pulling the wheeled contraptions much how the halla pulled her clan's _aravels_. She would not be permitted to ride in the carriage, however: the Inquisitor must at least _look_ like a master horseman by they time they rode through the gates of Halamshiral.

"I am bothered by the rifts," Zanneth said now, lifting her arms and stretching in the saddle. She was much more comfortable now than she had ever been on a horse, but she still nearly lost her balance. Cassandra was nice enough not to laugh, but the Seeker's lips did quirk up in a smile full of amusement.

"What bothers you about the rifts?"

Zanneth sighed. "I am the only one who can close them. We thought at first that they were contained only within a small radius from the Breach, but that rift we encountered the other day makes it very clear that this is not true. You heard the townsfolk: it _moved_ through the village. There are rifts everywhere, and they are not static. Even if their locations are reported by scouts…"

Cassandra pursed her lips and furrowed her brows. "But you cannot go as soon as one is found. We need you to lead the Inquisition and its forces. How can you be contacted if you are simplly trolling through the countryside, hoping to bump into a rift? And Skyhold is not so easily accessible that you can go back and forth. You would get nothing done before winter next came." A look of realization overtook her face for a moment, just as quickly disappearing, leaving the Seeker with a deep frown etched into her features.

"What?" Zanneth asked. "It looked like you thought of something for a moment there."

"Oh, I… Many years ago, I encountered an enchanted stone which could be used for communication. It had a twin, and the two could be… _spoken through_. But it is unlikely any such thing could be fashioned for the Inquisition." Cassandra shook her head. "I would not be surprised if it was fashioned through the use of blood magic, considering who was using it."

"That would indeed help, if such a thing could be found. But I agree. Anything fashioned through blood magic is to be avoided."

Cassandra eyed her for a moment before speaking. "Truly?"

"What?"

"Well, you are Dalish, outside the laws of the Chantry. You still revile blood magic?"

Zanneth scoffed. "You must think us savages if you think we use blood to spin our spells!"

"No, no!" Cassandra pursed her lips, took a deep breath, and plunged on. "I am merely realizing how little I know. How little I have asked. We are lovers, and I know so little about your life before I met you. I have not wanted to push, given everything that has happened." Eyes which Zanneth knew to be honey-brown found the elf's over the gap between their horses. "I am sorry. In my effort to give you your privacy…"

Zanneth took pity on her as she trailed off, her expression making it clear she had no idea where to go from there. "It is all right, Cassandra. I have appreciated the privacy. You are right. Much has happened. This time last year, I…" _I was being courted by Sinna. Hyune was an everyday part of my life. I shared meals with my grandmother. And I had no idea Cassandra even existed._ "…I had no idea where I would be now," she finished, leaving the rest of it unvoiced. Cassandra knew those things. No one else who might be able now to hear them need know all that had befallen Zanneth to bring her to this moment.

"I have learned a few choice phrases of elvhen," Cassandra said, her expression showing her hesitation. "I would like to learn more, if you are amenable."

Zanneth smiled. "Yes, all right. Perhaps the winter has allowed enough space to… lance the wound, so to speak." Zanneth looked out over the landscape. "You can ask me anything you like. But for now… we still are no closer to a solution for these traveling rifts."

"If I might interrupt." Zanneth twisted in her saddle to see Vivienne through the open window of a carriage. She aligned her horse next to the open window so they might converse, matching the carriage's speed.

"Yes?"

"I hope you know I was not trying to eavesdrop. But I heard mention of the rifts, so I opened my window."

Zanneth smiled softly. "It's fine, Lady Vivienne. You had something to add?"

"I think this could have a magical solution, Inquisitor. Perhaps wards can be set to keep the rifts from drifting. Mages would need to be out in the field, but we do have the whole of the Fereldan and Orlesian Circles at our disposal, and their training is coming along quite nicely, all things considered."

"Mages out in the field, setting wards. It is a good idea," Cassandra said. "Soldiers could then set up a perimeter, and hold it until the Inquisitor is able to deal with the problem. Yes, this is good, Lady Vivienne."

"As our forces grow, we should be able to bring more and more order to this chaos," Vivienne said.

"If only we could grow faster than the steady trickle of refugees," Zanneth mused.

She was surprised to hear Vivienne laugh. "My dear, what do you think this masquerade is for? We shall return to Skyhold with recruits to spare and enough coin to feed and clothe them twice over! And we shall have something for you to wear when meeting with visiting nobles that is much better than the _leathers_ you've worn all winter, as well."

Zanneth knit her brows. "What's wrong with my leathers? I am a hunter. How else ought I to dress?"

"Inquisitor, you are much more than a hunter now. You are the Herald of Andraste and Commander of the Inquisition. You must _look_ the part; we can't have you mistaken for one of our scouts, or a common servant. There are those who see only the tattoos upon your face, my dear. But by dressing the part and holding the bearing of one who leads without question, you will rise above it. You will be a woman – an elf, no less! – who commoners aspire to be and to whom nobles bow.

"The stories of your accomplishments will spread," Vivienne continued, "and with them, doubt: are you truly the woman from the tales? They will question what they've heard, but when they _see_ you… _then_ they will believe, Inquisitor. If they see someone who fits the legends that are bound to grow, they will _believe_ that you are capable of closing the rifts, closing the Breach, and, eventually, defeating beasts like Corypheus, who not even the mighty Champion of Kirkwall could slay."

Zanneth did not have an answer for that. She had a hard time believing that she could be all that… or that her _clothing_ choices would convey such meaning. But Vivienne _had_ made herself something from almost nothing, and among the Orlesian nobility, no les…

"Loathe as I am to admit it, Vivienne is right," Cassandra said.

"You _agree_ with her?"

"She does not agree that it is as it _should_ be, my dear," Vivienne said, settling a shrewd gaze upon Cassandra. "But she agrees that, with the Orlesian nobility as it actually _is_ , you will need to look this part for them."

"Precisely," Cassandra said, nodding.

"In any event, it is merely something to think on, Inquisitor. Now, as the chill is making its way in here, and the Lady Revka is starting to show signs of discomfort, I will take my leave." The window of the carriage rose, cutting off their conversation.

"Luckily, you need only preen for those in Orlais. Fereldan nobility will appreciate your humble dress and your skill on the hunt. And with a king who is so sympathetic to the plight of the elves, they are far more likely to look past your race than those of Orlais."

Zanneth frowned. "I do not need you or Vivienne to remind me I am an elf, Cassandra."

"I am not trying to remind you of something you do not know, Zanneth. I am… I worry for you."

Zanneth turned questioning eyes on her lover from where she had been glaring at the road ahead. "You worry for me?"

Cassandra laughed, though it held no humor. "Surely you jest? You have been hurt under my protection more times than I can count. The Anchor nearly killed you twice. You were attacked for having the audacity to be an _elf_ and the Herald of Andraste. You were hurled into the future, where I could not do anything to protect you at _all_. You went to face Corypheus with Solona for protection, and in the end _she_ needed _your_ protection. And now you sit before me, part of you gone for good. Of _course_ I worry for you!"

Zanneth just stared, her lips parted, shocked by the emotion suddenly choking Cassandra's voice.

The Seeker turned her face, frustration edging her tone. "I have failed you more times than not." Her voice fell to a whisper Zanneth could barely hear. "I fear I will be unable to see you through your coming trials intact."

" _Emma lath_ , please," Zanneth pleaded, unable to touch Cassandra because they were on horseback. "You have not _failed_ me. I would not be here if it were not for you, _ma vhenan_."

"She's right, you know."

Zanneth nearly jumped to hear Varric. He appeared at her side as he continued, his pony putting him rather shorter than either she or Cassandra. "Sorry, I was coming to ask you something, so I overheard. She's right, Cassandra. As much as you're on my shit-list right now, if you hadn't been around, the Herald would've been royally screwed with every single rift we've encountered. You saved her more than you failed her. And, well… I'm pretty sure you're the only reason she stuck around after she closed the Breach." The dwarf winked, causing a hot flush to spread rapidly over Zanneth's cheeks. "None of us have such dashing scars to tempt her with."

Cassandra made a disgusted noise, and Varric took his leave, citing his desire to not have his nose broken yet again. But it did the trick. Cassandra no longer wallowed in her doubts as they continued on the road to Halamshiral.

* * *

Cassandra fussed with Zanneth's collar. The elf smirked up at her.

"What?"

"I'm not used to you fussing over putting clothes _on_ me," she murmured.

Cassandra rolled her eyes, even as her face flamed. "Really. Perhaps you should not spend so much time with Solona," she said, turning Zanneth by the shoulders to look in the mirror.

"Why's that?"

"I fear she is having a negative influence upon you."

"You're just far too much fun to tease!" Zanneth chuckled.

Cassandra grunted, rolling her eyes again. "Indeed." She was secretly thrilled that the elf _could_ tease. She had spent so much of the time they'd known each other recovering from some injury or personal tragedy. It wasn't until the last few weeks that Zanneth could start to show that she had this side to her. Unfortunately, the elf was most comfortable with Cassandra, which meant she was often the butt of her subtle japes and teasing commentary.

"How do you like it?" Cassandra gestured to the mirror.

Zanneth's dark brown eyes took in her appearance. They stood, side by side, in matching uniforms of black with gold trim. Each wore a black tunic with flowing sleeves, tabards with the Inquisition's heraldry tucked into leather belts, a rapier hanging at each left hip. It was not Cassandra's weapon of choice, but she knew enough of its use for it to serve more than a cosmetic function. Zanneth, too, would at least be able to defend herself with her own, should the need arise. Legs clad in black hose ended with polished black boots. Zanneth was dismayed at the choice, but her light brown Dalish boots simply would not do for the evening. Cassandra wore soft leather gloves, but Zanneth's hands were left unadorned, her left hand glowing faintly, proving to all who looked upon her who she truly was. No other marker was needed; between her white hair, her _vallaslin_ , and the mark upon her hand, no one would mistake the identity of the Inquisitor.

"We look good," Zanneth said simply, eyes catching Cassandra's in the mirror. "You especially."

"Oh?"

Zanneth turned, resting her hands on Cassandra's hips. She inexplicably blushed up at the Seeker. "I always find you rather fetching in formal attire."

"You… are blushing?" She reached up, cupping Zanneth's cheek, letting her fingers caress the scar on her right cheek, then drift up to trace the outline of her amputated ear. She knew that Zanneth appreciated that she did not shy away from the features which marked her so, which might be called ugly by some. "Why?"

"I… never spoke of it, but I have always thought thusly. When I first saw you in Redcliffe, in your leather trousers and your tight-fitting shirt, my knees went weak. And not just because I was seeing you _alive_. It was… well, it became clear very quickly how attractive you are." She smiled. "I just could not see it at first."

Cassandra smirked, pulling Zanneth into her arms for a proper embrace. "I am not sure how comforting I find it that it took my death to make you see that I am attractive."

Zanneth tensed, but said nothing, merely tightening her hold around Cassandra's waist. She had _asked_ Cassandra to speak this bluntly about Redcliffe after those memories had nearly overcome her in Sarnia, closing the rift. Indeed, she had asked Cassandra to speak this bluntly about all of it: the deaths of her brother and her betrothed, her miscarriage, the attack which _caused_ the miscarriage, and about her time spent in that future she had averted in Redcliffe. Zanneth wanted Cassandra to speak of it, to mention it, to joke about it in her own way, for the Herald did not want it to hold her in its sway. She did not want to choke up at its very mention. She wished to desensitize herself to it, so that it could never be used against her, so that she would not be distracted in a fight ever again. Cassandra understood, and did as she was asked.

Still. She was not accustomed to being insensitive on purpose. "I am sorry, dear one…"

"No, it is all right. I asked you to." She pulled away, wiping briefly at her eyes, then turned back to the mirror. "Do you think Josephine and Revka will be putting that stuff on my face they put on their own?"

"Kohl and the like? Probably not." Cassandra moved to their bags, pulling out a hairbrush and pulling it through her hair a few times. "Your lashes are white, and your skin fair. I imagine that is a color palette they know not what to do with. Besides," she said, holding the brush out to her lover, "Your face is permanently painted by your _vallaslin_. I think that is more than enough to accentuate your features."

"Well, then I suppose we're ready." Zanneth handed the brush back. Cassandra smirked. The elf's hair moved right back to where it had lain, still looking unkempt. Her hair had apparently been soft and silky when it was black, but now its texture could only be described as straw-like. Luckily, it gave her a rather brash look that suited her well, especially when juxtaposed against the order of her uniform. The entire look, when combined with her white hair and her glowing hand… well, _fetching_ was indeed the right word.

"Yes, indeed." She leaned in, bestowing a quick kiss on her lover's red lips. "Let us face the army of masks and clever words."

"Just keep quiet?"

"The fewer your words, the better, _ma vhenan_ ," she nodded. She opened the door, seeingJosephine, Solona, Revka, and Cullen already out in the hall of the guest wing of Halamshiral, all clad in the same uniform as Cassandra and Zanneth. "Let your deaf Chantry sister and myself guide you through the chaos."

Nodding, Zanneth stepped out into the hall. Outside, they would find Grand-Duke Gaspard, ready to escort them inside as his guests. Cassandra took a deep breath, steeling herself.

Oh, but how she hated the Great Game.


	8. The Wardens' Arrival

_A/N: Hello! My beta is back, but I now have a back up lined up should I ever need it (thank you, kindly!)._

 _Here is a smut warning. I made it eight chapters before going explicit. No surprise there..._

 _Also, we have two new ships! Stay tuned afterward for more!_

* * *

Bethany Hawke had spent much of her life on the run. She had run from Carver's mean-spirited pranks, from Damian's protection, and, eventually, from the only life she'd ever known in Lothering. Upon arriving in Kirkwall, she had run from every templar she saw, and there were a _lot_ of templars in Kirkwall.

Then she had been conscripted into the Grey Wardens and joined her cousin Solona in Amaranthine, and everything had changed. No longer did she run from templars. She could practice her magic in the open, with Solona there to guide her in magics she had never even heard tell of. When Solona and Leliana had left, she had continued on, determined in her new mission. She reveled in the freedom of being able to stay put and train recruits, and took ship to Kirkwall every few years to visit her mother and sister, and eventually just her sister. It was not the ideal life… but it hardly got better for mages in a world so controlled by the Chantry.

Then, during one of her visits to Kirkwall, the world had come down around them, and Damian had needed to flee to save the city from the rumored Exalted March. They sailed on Isabela's ship back to Amaranthine, and the whole time, Bethany had felt as though she were on the run again.

The feeling had not left in the two years since that day.

Now, as she rode up the path to this castle in the mountains her sister had described, Bethany still felt as though she were running from something: the terror of the Calling, which she could not think was anything but _false_.

"Cheer up, Sunshine. We're going to see Damian in just a few minutes!"

Bethany smirked. Isabela rode double with her, holding on about her waist. Surprisingly her hands had not wandered… far. Isabela had always liked to flirt and make Bethany blush before the Deep Roads. Now, however, it was far more difficult to get Bethany to blush. She was no virgin any longer. One benefit of being a warden – she had not bled in nearly ten years, entirely negating the risk of finding herself accidentally pregnant. When she'd realized that… she'd become rather well acquainted with the company of men.

Nothing like Isabela, of course. The pirate's thirst for men – and women – rivaled Oghren's thirst for drink.

"You only want to get into her pants," Bethany remarked.

"Not _just_ her pants," Isabela said. Bethany could almost hear the mock-pout on her face. "Have you seen her tits? I want to get into her shirt, too!"

"Gross! She's my _sister_!" Her only answer was Isabela's cackle in her ear.

"What're you two laughin' about up there?" Oghren called, his pony just on the heels of Bethany's mare.

"You can't keep up, you don't get to participate in the girl talk, Oghren!" Isabela replied, laughing at his grumbling.

Bethany was grateful. Isabela was the only reason she had been able to stand being cooped up on a ship with Oghren for the last year. That, and being able to take off her boots and climb into the rigging, working with her hands in a way her father would have been horrified at. He wanted better for her than he'd had for himself. He wanted her to be able to do some sort of work that involved a quill, something learned. She understood why, but she also felt no guilt. Her life was _hers_ , and she enjoyed that it was one not planned out for her ahead of time.

She had regrets, of course. She wished she had Malcom here, her dear father. So too did she wish for her mother, and even Carver, though they had never had more than five minutes' agreement between them at any given time. At least Damian lived. They may have had their moments of disagreement – Bethany was bitter for a long time about being shunted off to the wardens – but in the end, they were sisters, and they were together. Damian had torn her way through Kirkwall that day, trying to find Bethany. And once together, the sisters had stood with their friends against Meredith. For once in her life Bethany had stood up for herself, for her right to _live_ as a mage, and the rights of those around her to do the same, and there had been Damian, at her side, fighting for that same right.

Old resentments had died in that moment.

"There you go, disappearing into those clouds," Isabela said. Her voice wasn't quite so jubilant as it had been before. "What's making your skies so stormy, Sunshine?"

Bethany shook her head. "Just memories, I suppose. Nothing like coming back to make you think of your old life. I haven't been this far into Ferelden since leaving Lothering."

"Fair point. There's a reason I don't go to Rivain often," the pirate agreed. She wrapped her arms around Bethany more firmly, an embrace Bethany appreciated. "It'll be all right. We'll get you a drink, a big hairy man – just how you like them! – and then you'll be good as new."

Bethany smirked again. A drink and a tumble in the hay didn't sound half bad. It had been quite a while on both counts. Though… "A bath first," she said. "I'm not sure anyone would want either of us with how ripe we are."

"Not even together, likely," Isabela quipped. They both had a laugh at that. Bethany couldn't say she wasn't curious… but sleeping with her sister's lover was just a step too far.

Leila, the mabari running alongside her horse, gave a yip of agreement. Solona had invested in some breeding stock of the hound in Amaranthine, insisting all the wardens learn some of the way of the Ash warriors, which had been decimated almost to a man at Ostagar. Oghren hadn't been able to convince any puppies to take to him, but Bethany had picked this fine girl out just after leaving Kirkwall for the last time. She was a good companion. _I wonder if Solona's dogs will be about_ , she wondered now. Perhaps it was time for Leila to have a brace of pups herself?

A half hour later, they were at the castle's gate. It was _huge_ , probably twice the size of the keep at Amaranthine. Given that it was carved into a bloody _mountaintop_ , Bethany supposed it would _need_ to be so large just to support the force that held it. It had no surrounding lands.

 _How do they feed themselves through the winter in there?_

The guard at the gate was dubious as to their identity. Looking at their shabby clothing, Bethany couldn't really blame him. She hadn't wanted to advertise their allegiance on the way here, so she hadn't worn her uniform. But right now it would be useful. Rummaging in her pack, she took out her Grey Warden tabard. It was enough to convince him of who they were.

"I shall send for Ser Cauthrien at once," he said, saluting her. He seemed to think she was in charge. Oghren didn't seem too torn up about it. He was uncharacteristically quiet… _Oh right. We ran out of whiskey yesterday._

They only needed to wait a few minutes before two figures came into view. One was unfamiliar, but the other was obviously her sister. Isabela was off the horse in a flash, bosom heaving as she ran for Damian. The pirate had relented and put on pants while out in the Fereldan winter, tight hose that fit into her thigh-high boots. She also wore a cloak. But those were the only two concessions she made to the cold, her arms still bare – aside from the red band of silk Damian had tied there many years before – and her cleavage still on generous display. When she made it to Damian in the distance, the pirate threw herself into her arms and likely plunged her tongue into her mouth.

Bethany stopped watching. It hadn't been so long since she'd seen her sister that she was in any hurry to get to her. Let Isabela hump Damian's leg a little. Bethany was fine waiting until her sister was less distracted.

"I take it that is the tornado I was warned would be descending upon us all," the new woman said by way of greeting. "And that would make you Warden Hawke?"

She was tall, though not so tall as Damian. Her shoulders were broad, and upon them was braced a sword to rival Damian's in size and reach. Her skin was pale, though clearly it had seen plenty of sun in her lifetime. Dark brown hair was pulled back from her face, a shock of grey at her left temple. When she turned, a braid was evidence, the grey streaking through it in a most dignified way.

Bethany nodded. "Yes, though I prefer to simple be called Bethany." "And you are?"

"I am Ser Aisling Cauthrien, though everyone calls me Cauthrien." Bethany dismounted as Cauthrien continued." I am second-in-command of the Inquisition's martial forces, and, for the moment, master of all Skyhold." The woman smirked. "Would that the responsibility also came with perks. But, alas, such is not my luck." Her eyes fell on Leila. "And who is this handsome beast?"

Leila preened at the compliment, causing Bethany to giggle. "This is Leila, proud daughter of the Amaranthine stock of mabari hounds."

Cauthrien grinned. "A fine name for a fine hound." She then looked to Oghren, who had remained seated on his pony, peering down at her silently. "And you are Warden-Commander Oghren?"

"Aye," he grunted.

Bethany rolled her eyes. "I am afraid the Warden-Commander is a bit… tired. We all are. A bath and a meal would likely perk us all up." Isabela squealed in the background. Bethany raised her voice so as to be heard by her sister and her lover. "Not that Isabela needs any help…"

A red-faced Damian emerged from Isabela's embrace, leading the pirate by the hand. "Sorry," she said, pulling Bethany into a hug. Despite the embarrassment the two of them always provided, Bethany _was_ happy to see her sister. She hugged her fiercely. It had only been two weeks, but her sister's letter had not only been a summons to her side: it had been a call to leave their self-imposed hiding, and a possible answer to the inexplicable urge to descend into the Deep Roads that plagued the back of her mind.

"Come on," Damian said, releasing Bethany. "We'll get you washed up and fed and rested. Then we can see to business."

* * *

Damian ogled without remorse as Isabela floated in the water of the public bath. Her hair flowed just under the surface, and her hands stirred the water as she directed her movements, but it was the hardened nipples poking out of the water, her breasts floating in an all-too-enticing way, which had the majority of the Champion's attention.

"Well," Bethany said, pulling Damian's gaze from her lover's naked form. "I suppose I shouldn't keep you from each other any longer." She stepped out of the water, grabbing a towel. "Just… don't do anything gross in the water, all right? Other people have to bathe in here, too."

"Is it gross if they join us?" Isabela queried. Bethany laughed, shook her head, and made her way to the next room, where she might dry off and put on clean clothing.

Isabela continued lazing through the water another minute before she finally spoke up. "Why don't you stop staring and get your ass in here?"

Damian grinned. She'd been wondering when the invitation would come. Shucking her clothes and dumping them unceremoniously on the floor, Damian entered the steaming water. No one else was about, as the middle of the day was the least-frequented time to go to the baths. Not that they were sure to remain uninterrupted, but Damian was willing to risk it.

She slipped through the warm water, sliding smoothly into Isabela's waiting embrace. Her warm skin smelled of soap, but underneath Damian could still detect the salt-spray of the sea. She was sure Isabela would never be rid of the scent, no matter how long the pirate spent away from the ocean or her ship. Muscled legs wrapped around the Champion's waist, and those floating tits were so damn close that Damian couldn't help herself. Taking a deep breath, she leaned over, burying her face in those warm, inviting breasts, pulling Isabela tight with both arms.

Isabela just laughed.

Damian grinned as she surfaced, capturing those enticing lips in a hungry kiss. Isabela began grinding into her, gyrating her core into Damian's belly, her fingers threading into the Champion's hair and pulling _hard_. So Isabela wanted it rough? Damian could do that. To her surprise, however, Isabela released with her legs, took Damian by the shoulders, and shoved her against the side of the shallow pool.

"Now," Isabela said, tracing her fingers along the length of Hawke's arms, encircling the warrior's wrists at the end. "You may be bigger than me, but you're going to do _exactly_ as I say."

Damian swallowed, her tongue suddenly thick. It was always incredibly fun when Isabela got into this kind of mood. "Yes, ma'am."

"Oh, Damian. Always so accommodating." Isabela maneuvered Damian's wrists until her hands were behind her head, elbows up, pulling her breasts out of the water. Her nipples were instantly rock-hard. "Stay here," the pirate commanded, before plundering Damian's mouth with her tongue.

It was a kiss that was difficult to keep pace with, especially when she could not wrap her arms around Isabela's waist. Making it even more difficult were the searching fingers, scratching down her back before coming around and pinching her nipples. They didn't let up, tightening until it was truly painful and Hawke whimpered into Isabela's mouth.

"There it is," the pirate whispered, pulling away and kissing down Damian's jaw. "That's just what I wanted." The pressure eased on her nipples, the hands moving to cup her breasts, kneading roughly for a moment before moving on. Isabela's teeth and tongue kept up an onslaught down her throat and onto her chest. Her nipples were then the subject of more abuse, those teeth eliciting several more whimpers from Hawke before the pirate finally pulled back.

"Up," she said.

Hawke's arms fell to her sides. "What?"

Rolling her eyes, Isabela patted the stone lip of the pool. "Up here, lover."

Suddenly and dreadfully excited, Hawke moved to comply, nearly leaping out of the pool so she could sit on the edge. Isabela stood up, the water coming to her bellybutton, and moved between Damian's legs. The Champion found the sight of all that water running down Isabela's form so very enticing.

"I need you to be _very_ quiet," she purred, dropping a kiss between Hawke's breasts. "Anyone could walk in at any moment and ruin our fun. And since you're in a most _compromising_ position…" Isabela's hand tickled a trail from Hawke's stomach down between her legs, taking a handful of the hair there and pulling lightly. Hawke bit her lip. It would be _murder_ trying to keep quiet. "We don't want to attract any undo attention, do we?"

"No, no we don't," Damian breathed. She kept her hands to herself. The implicit order from earlier still stood. She knew from experience the longer she held out, the more glorious it was when Isabela was finally in her arms.

"Good girl," the pirate murmured. Fingers suddenly slipped inside her, gently but without warning, making Hawke's toes curl and her fingers grip the lip of stone on which she sat. Isabela just chuckled, leaning forward to kiss Damian's exposed throat. She latched on quickly, ensuring that Hawke's pale skin showed _exactly_ who the warrior belonged to by the end of the afternoon.

Hawke tried not to squirm, but those fingers inside her were moving at such a slow pace, agonizing as they searched, pulling in and out without ever quite finding the right spot. The Champion usually liked to be taken fast and rough, and Isabela generally gave it to her. Unless she was feeling like being a _massive_ tease, which, apparently, she was right now.

Worrying her lip to try to keep quiet, Hawke's grip became white-knuckled when Iseabela added a third finger. But her pace was still cruelly slow, sliding in Hawke's considerable wetness as if she were appreciating a delicacy the likes of which she would only receive a handful of times in her life. Meanwhile, her mouth deepened the love mark at her collar, and her other hand raked furrows down Hawke's back.

Hawke finally whimpered and bucked her hips, trying to get more, trying to get deeper, trying to go _faster_ , dammit! Isabela's mouth released with a _pop_ , and the next moment Hawke's face snapped to the side from a light slap.

"I said you needed to stay quiet," the pirate whispered, taking Hawke's chin in-hand. Her pace suddenly sped, her fingers spearing into the warrior in exactly the way she had been hoping for. Damian gasped, looking deep into Isabela's eyes. "Quiet, Champion, or I'll stop altogether." To prove her point, Isabela's hand stilled, poised at her entrance, promising and yet not delivering on another deep penetration.

Hawke closed her eyes, bit into the furrow she had worried into her lower lip, and nodded.

"Good. Now. Lie back. I want to see _everything_." Hawke did as she was told, ignoring the discomfort of the stone floor in favor of the pleasure that was being promised her. "Remember. Not one sound, or I stop, and you'll have to find some tartlet in the tavern to lie with you tonight. You know, someone who would _never_ fuck you like I can." Hawke's heart pounded. Isabela would do it. She knew she would. When the pirate was in this mood, she was willing to play this game for _days_ until she got Hawke to submit. It was a terribly good time, but Damian was _not_ in the mood to let it drag out. She wanted Isabela. She wanted to be filled, hard and fast, and she was willing to do just about anything to get it.

Isabela set up a punishing pace, fast and rough, careful not to cause damage, but definitely pushing the limits of what Hawke could handle. Pushing, flirting with, but never crossing. Damian's heart swelled with love for this woman, even as heat swelled in her lower belly, threatening to spill over with every thrust.

Hawke did everything she could think of to stay quiet. She gripped the stone lip of the pool with her toes, she stuffed her hand into her mouth and bit down on her knuckles, she gripped her own hair and pulled. It nearly didn't work, but she managed to hold herself together.

Until Isabela's thumb brushed against the pearl just above her entrance. She bucked, halfway sitting up just to confirm the completely evil expression she knew Isabela would have. Yes, there it was, those narrowed eyes and that entirely-too-pleased grin, her gaze fixated upon Damian's core and her hand disappearing inside of the warrior. Biting back a groan, Hawke laid back once more, surrendering herself to the feeling of Isabela's soft thumb and rough fingers.

She didn't know how long it took. When she came to be in this state, time tended to slow and stretch, and she got lost in it. Images flashed through her mind this time, and she was too far-gone to care that most of them involved watching someone else do this exact same thing to Isabela, bending her over a barrel and plowing her until she squealed.

Her release came as a surprise, the heat spilling and spreading through her body all at once. She bucked, her stomach tightening, her core gripping greedily around Isabela's fingers. She did not know if she made any noise, for she did not care, nor was she even aware of anything outside her own body. All that mattered were the waves of ecstasy coursing over her, a flood she was more than willing to drown in.

Time shrank back to its normal pace as she settled back into her body. Damian relaxed, boneless, twitching occasionally. Her pulse beat hard and steady at her throat, at her wrists, and against Isabela's fingers, still firmly buried inside her.

"Such a good girl, Damian," Isabela purred. "Come here."

Despite feeling as though she had no energy, Hawke obeyed, managing to get her hands under her and pushing herself up. Isabela's cool lips found hers, and Hawke responded immediately, drinking from her lover as though the woman were the source of all creation. She wrapped her arms around Isabela, pressing herself against that glorious skin. It hadn't been like this for a long time. Why hadn't it been like this for so long?

"I know it was only a couple of weeks, but… I missed you," Isabela said, burying her nose in Hawke's throat.

Hawke smiled, feeling loose and sloppy. _There's a slut joke in there somewhere_ , she thought, a lazy grin on her face.

"I know you didn't keep a cold bed while I was gone," Damian murmured. She gasped when Isabela's fingers left her core, instead trailing up to cup the Champion's cheek.

"No, but… you're different." It was simple, but it was true.

They had perhaps a strange agreement. Damian did not ask for exclusivity from Isabela, nor did she wish to promise that to her in return. They were entirely devoted, however, and shared _only_ under the confines of a few very important rules: no getting pregnant or bringing diseases home; if feelings started with someone else, it was to end at once; and full disclosure, both with each other and their various other partners. Over the years, these rules had stood them in good stead, and enabled a deeper bond to grow between them without sex getting in the way. The sex was fantastic… and they were able to enjoy each other after and in between the sex because of their agreement.

But Isabela was right. Damian herself had seduced the barmaid not two nights before. It had been fun, but it was always different with Isabela. Feelings enhanced the sex. It was not always how she needed to be filled – sometimes an anonymous encounter was exactly what she craved – but it was _always_ what she wanted to return home to.

"You ready for more?" Damian murmured now, nuzzling into Isabela's ear.

A grin spread slowly on the pirate's face, and she pulled away. "Yes. But not here. Take me to bed, sweet thing?"

Hawke's heart tried to beat right out of her chest at Isabela's purr. "Anything you want, Isabela."

* * *

Bethany wandered the grounds of Skyhold. She'd had her bath, and a meal had been waiting for her in the room she'd been shown. Leila was nowhere to be seen, but Bethany wasn't worried. The hound was fully trained, and if the warden blew the whistle in her belt satchel, the dog would come running. Let her frolic and sniff her way through the castle. She'd been on the road for a week, and before that she'd been on a ship off and on for months. Rough life for a dog.

Now, Bethany was looking for Cauthrien, for she needed to speak with this warden she'd been told of, found in the Hinterlands taking on a dragon _by himself_. Solona was gone, as was Leliana and most everyone else who ran things, leaving Cauthrien in charge of everything. Damian had made the mistake of becoming the knight's friend, so now the elder Hawke was helping with the training of the Inquisition's green troops. Bethany imagined that she, too, would be roped into training at some point. It was to be expected from a Grey Warden. She didn't mind doing her part, as long as she remained unharrassed by any templars.

She didn't spot Cauthrien until the woman was halfway to her across the yard. As Bethany was wearing her tabard of grey and blue, with the griffon emblazoned across the chest, she supposed it made sense that she would stick out like a sore thumb. Did the other warden not wear his own uniform? Why could she not see him in all the little sparring groups she'd seen thus far? Surely he was helping with training? Or perhaps he was a recluse?

"Bethany," the knight said now, close enough to speak at a normal volume. "You are refreshed, I trust?" Bethany nodded, smiling. "Good, good." Cauthrien rubbed her palms together. "And the Warden-Commander?"

"I imagine you'll find Oghren in the tavern," Bethany said. "He's… well, he's a good commander, but with everything… it's a lot to manage. So he drinks." Bethany had a hard time blaming him. Oghren's drinking had escalated in recent months because of the Calling. Bethany had meditation techniques to help her ignore the inexplicable, blinding fear. But Oghren was a dwarven berserker. Anything that grated on him shortened his fuse, and with something so constant like the Calling, the only thing that seemed able to dull the sensation was drink. It made him a piss-poor commander while under the influence, which was often, but Bethany didn't blame him at all.

"I imagine the Calling is difficult to ignore," Cauthrien mused.

Bethany narrowed her eyes. "How do you know of it?"

"Ser Hawke- that is, your sister told us of it. I wasn't in the room, but I am… _close_ with the ambassador, and she felt as second-in-command I should know why you are here, since I was to receive you at Skyhold. I have told no one else, except to discuss the Calling with Warden Blackwall, if that is what you're worried about."

"I suppose that makes sense. I apologize. The wardens… we guard our secrets closely. It is important potential recruits not know all before the Joining. Ours is a… severe order."

"I understand," Cauthrien said, nodding. Apparently, that was enough for her. What a relief. Most were incensed. Of course, those were all newly-survived recruits. Cauthrien was not staring down the rest of her life when she learned the news. "Should we wait for the Warden-Commander?"

"No." Bethany sighed. "He won't be human – or dwarven – again until the morning. I don't want to wait. And trust me, he, too, wishes to simply be called by his name as often as possible."

Cauthrien turned, nodding. "Krem!"

"Yes, Ser Cauthrien?" a young man yelled, looking up from some shenanigans or other on the side of the drill-yard.

"I'm going to need you to take over for me. You know what to do?"

"Aye, ser!" He turned and immediately began shouting orders. "Chargers! Pick a partner and let's dance!"

Bethany snorted a laugh. "Gets right to it, doesn't he? How come he's not in the uniform of the Inquisition?"

"He's actually lieutenant of a mercenary band that joined us," the knight explained. "They might as well be part of the Inquisition. We don't pay them nearly as well as they've earned, and they were a boon when we were nothing back in Haven. Came before I did, in fact. But their leader, The Iron Bull, is pledged to protect the Inquisitor, so it's clear he's personally invested and doesn't care as much about the coin at the moment. He's made himself something of a body guard ever since the attack."

"Attack?"

Cauthrien eyed her. "Aye. The Inquisitor came from a Dalish clan. An old… I hesitate to call her 'friend,' but we served together for a long time. Anyway, this woman took issue with the Inquisitor's heritage and attacked her for it. We've… learned a few lessons the hard way."

Bethany shook her head. "Is the woman still alive?"

"No. The commander had her executed. She left the king's service and pledged herself to the Inquisition. It was the commander's call. Given that she nearly killed the damn Herald of Andraste, I'd say she more than had it coming to her."

"I see why you hesitate to call her 'friend'," Bethany said lightly.

Cauthrien's steadily-building anger seemed to deflate at the soft comment. "Sorry. I apologize for cursing. I felt responsible. If I had not been… well. Never mind. We vet our people much more thoroughly now, and the Inquisitor rarely moves without at least one trusted companion with her at all times. It should not happen again."

Bethany merely nodded. She understood feeling responsible. Every time her sister and brother could not advance in life for fear of exposing Bethany had been a blow to the young woman's conscience.

And yet Damian had confessed that she felt responsible for every shitty thing that had befallen their family. And really, with their mother confirming it every time, how could she not? Leandra had also blamed Bethany for many things, though not as openly as Damian. For Damian, it was, "How could you, you'll expose Bethany!" Bethany heard each cast of blame as, "If you weren't here, your sister could make something of herself."

After a few minutes of silence they came to a small drill yard with just a few sparring pairs. Well, not pairs. Groups of three and even one of four all fought together. Bethany approved. Being able to face more than one opponent at a time was important, so that if you ever found yourself in that situation, you would not be _skewered_ trying to help a comrade.

"Warden Blackwall!" Cauthrien shouted, her voice carrying over the yard. "Come on over!" _She's obviously well-versed in commanding troops_ , Bethany thought.

One of the men in the drill-yard disengaged from the others, and the two in his group continued sparring. He left his practice weapons in a crate by the wooden fence posts and jogged over.

He was… well, incredibly handsome, with a head full of dark hair and a face full of a dark beard. His skin was pale, though heavily tanned, and his frame was lean, like he'd spent a good amount of time ranging through the forest and living off the land. He was clearly strong, though, as he'd been taking on the two with him on his own.

As he came closer, Bethany saw that his beard had some salt and pepper, though his hair remained dark. He was perhaps nearing forty? A little old for her, but not untenably so. _I haven't even met him yet. And already I'm thinking like this? Too long with Isabela…_

Bethany couldn't keep her eyes off of him, though she wasn't overly obvious about it. He wore simple woolen trousers and homespun shirt, a warrior's sparring leathers on over them. His Inquisition tabard lay over that. Odd, that he would wear one. He was pledged to the Grey Wardens. He couldn't also pledge himself to the Inquisition. Could he? It was not a government, but it did have _some_ ruling power…

"What can I do for you, Ser Cauthrien?" he asked as he came to a stop. His voice was a little raspy, like he didn't use it much, or perhaps spent a lot of time shouting. Given his low volume now, Bethany would guess it was the former rather than the latter. It was… pleasant. Something she would definitely wish to hear close, next to her ear, whispered over the back of her neck…

 _Too long. That's it. It's just been too long. Damn Isabela, screwing every handsome man in port. Or perhaps damn_ _ **me**_ _, for not wanting to share any men she's been with_.

"This is Warden Bethany Hawke."

Blue-grey eyes snapped up to Bethany's. She was not expecting them in such an otherwise dark, swarthy man. "Hello, Lady Hawke. I'm Warden Gordon Blackwall. Though I prefer simply Blackwall."

Bethany took his outstretched hand. "And I prefer just Bethany. 'Hawke' is usually my sister."

"Of course," he said. She was surprised that he then bent at the waist and brushed his lips over her knuckles. Perhaps he came from a learned or noble background? Most wardens came from common stock, but some did not. The Joining made them all equal.

Whatever it was, perhaps she might grow close enough to ask him. The only thing she knew of Blackwall was that he hailed from the Nevarran Order.

He smelled of a light sweat, of hay and wood and leather, of steel and oil. It was faint, as he was not terribly close to her, but still the stiff breeze carried the scents to her, making her wonder how it would be to bury her nose in the crook of his throat, in his beard, in the cleft of his shoulder. _Maker, Bethany, but you are terribly thirsty for a man_.

"As we discussed," Cauthrien said, the beginnings of a smile pulling at her lips, "Warden Hawke- uh, Bethany is here about the Calling." _Damn my face_ , Bethany thought, trying not to blush as Blackwall released her hand. _She already knows I'm staring_. "I shall leave you two be, so that you might discuss your warden secrets without my prying ears."

Bethany nearly glared at the woman as she beat a hasty retreat. She _knew_ Cauthrien had intended to be part of the conversation up until she saw Bethany's interest in her fellow warden.

 _And why do I glare at her for leaving me alone to flirt?_

"Hell of a thing," Blackwall said, regaining Bethany's attention.

"Yes. It's… nearly unbearable," Bethany said. She began walking, in no particular direction. "I meditate, and it helps. Oghren drinks. How do you manage?"

Blackwall shrugged. "I help train the troops, grab a pint or two in the evening when I can no longer throw myself into work. It's enough."

Bethany nodded. "Yes, I suppose so. We all have our own ways." She scanned the parapets, seeing sentries every twenty yards or so. "Is there somewhere we can speak privately?"

"Yes, though… it is not suitable for a lady."

"I am hardly a lady," Bethany said, chuckling darkly. "I'm a Grey Warden. We venture into the Deep Roads and our boots squelch in darksawn shit. As long as there's none of _that_ , I'll be fine."

Blackwall's chuckle was low and quiet as he shook his head, his short ponytail flopping a little comically. A few more months' growth and he'd have a suitable ponytail, but she understood his need to get the hair out of his face while fighting. "None of that, no. But I make my home in the stables. They keep it clean, but…"

"But it smells of horse dung. I see." Bethany shrugged. "It's fine with me. There are worse smells."

Nodding, Blackwall picked up his pace, leading her across the grounds of the castle to the stable. Bethany kept pace, walking just behind him, trying and failing not to admire his form. She could not see many details, but he was pleasing on the eye nonetheless. He was a rugged man, just how she preferred them. Too bad he wasn't showing any signs of interest of his own.

She was greeted by a familiar whinny in the stables. Sparing a moment to give her mare a quick pat upon the nose, Bethany continued past her, following Blackwall up the stairs in the back of the barn.

"It actually doesn't smell so bad up here," Bethany remarked.

"It could certainly be worse," he agreed. He moved to the opposite wall, sure on his feet despite being rather precariously perched so he could reach the latch to the hay door. He opened it, flooding them in light. A breeze immediately reached Bethany, blowing away any lingering smell of the horses and their waste. She suddenly understood why he would take the time to open the thing.

"How do you get the hay delivered all the way up here in the mountains?" Bethany wondered, looking around at the bales stacked above and below. The barn mostly served as hay storage, in fact. There were no animals inside the main building, only in the outlying stables. Skyhold must be mild enough that they didn't need sturdier shelter than that.

"This place is steeped in magic," Blackwall said, moving to a bale of hay and spreading a rough woolen horse blanket over it. "The hay in the barn was all still fresh, and it was full to bursting. Same with the crops in the gardens Since then... well, our ambassadors are skilled in drawing favors from their friends in the Fereldan and Orlesian courts, I'm told. It is how we have the coin. Delivering items to Skyhold in the middle of the winter is costly. But this place was Maker-sent, as far as I'm concerned. Without it we would have been stuck in the snow as winter approached. Now, please, sit, if you like. The blanket is clean and shouldn't smell of horse."

Bethany smiled, moving to sit. It wasn't the most comfortable seat she had ever taken, nor was it the least comfortable. _Maker knows I've done stakeouts for Athenril for hours with no seat at all_.

"So what precisely did you wish to discuss?" Blackwall said now, leaning against a support beam.

"There's something different about this Calling," Bethany said, getting right to it. "It feels like darkspawn – I get the knives dancing along my skull if I think on it too hard. But the rest of it just isn't right."

"How do you mean?"

Bethany pursed her lips. "Well, we're supposed to start hallucinating, hearing the darkspawn. We're supposed to be _old_. And we're not supposed to all hear it at the same time. I think it's fake."

"Fake? I suppose…"

"Why did you not seek the Deep Roads when you first felt it? You had no one around to tell you they felt it, too." Bethany was curious. He was supposedly wandering alone, recruiting and seeking out signs of the 'spawn. It was common enough. Outside of a Blight, wardens laid low, looked for good recruits, and kept an eye out. They also went into the Deep Roads far more often than Bethany really preferred, given her experience down there with her sister and Varric, but she'd learned long ago to take the bad with the good.

"It's… like you said," Blackwall responded, hesitating. Why was that, Bethany wondered? "Didn't hear the darkspawn, haven't been a warden long enough. I ignored it and kept going. Then the Herald found me, and I joined her. Been easier to ignore with so many people to work with. I didn't think it was fake, per se; but just… that I had some time before… well."

"Time to help before it got worse?" Bethany offered, smiling. Took on a dragon on his own to help, came to the Inquisition instead of obeying to Calling to help. This man seemed too good to be true. "Why do you care so much about helping?"

There was no hesitation in his answer this time. "That's what wardens do. No Blight, we help in other ways, ingratiate ourselves with the populace, keep ourselves in the public eye so we can keep our numbers up. It's… I want to help. I just… want to help. I'll do whatever I can do so. If I'm to die soon, then I want to squeeze in whatever I can before I do."

Bethany could read between the lines. He'd done something bad, or passed on some opportunities to help someone, in his time before the wardens. Becoming a warden wiped the slate clean. Your life before the Joining was no longer up for debate. But Blackwall would not be the first who took the opportunity to do better than he'd done before.

She certainly approved. "That makes sense. I don't mean to question you. I just… never spend any time with wardens outside of the Fereldan Order. I suppose I'm just not used to talking wardens I don't already know."

That got a smile from Blackwall, and Bethany realized it was the first time she'd seen it. His beard pulled on his cheeks and his eyes crinkled. It was entirely charming, and caused her to immediately mirror his smile with her own. Then they were both laughing. His was full and hearty, seeming to fill her chest as it filled the small hayloft. She liked the sensation.

"Oh, that sounded ridiculous, didn't it?" Bethany managed to say, wiping a tear from her eye. She'd smiled plenty while staying with Isabela, Oghren, and her sister, but she hadn't had such a good, full belly laugh with someone in a long while.

"I won't hold it against you," Blackwall said, eyes still crinkled in a smile. "Maker knows I've said my fair share of ridiculous things while talking to a beautiful lady."

Bethany's face immediately flushed at the compliment, and she was delighted to see a bloom of red appear just above the border of Blackwall's beard.

"I, uh… sorry, I…"

"Blackwall. Please. There is absolutely no reason to apologize for calling me beautiful. But no more 'lady,' please."

"Of course, Lady- er, Bethany," he said, scrubbing a hand over his hair. "Was the Calling all you wished to discuss?"

"Yes. We are out of hiding, and the Inquisition is not coming for us as we'd feared. I suppose all there is to do now is to get settled and see what comes next. I'll speak with Leliana when she gets back."

"Leliana?"

Bethany knit her brows in confusion. "You haven't spoken with Solona or Leliana?"

"The Hero of Ferelden? I'm afraid I've been avoiding her, and as far as I know, she hasn't sought me out, either."

"Why avoid her?"

"Simple case of hero-worship," Blackwall said, shrugging. "She's such a powerhouse. I don't… some people like to meet their heroes. Others prefer to look on them from afar. I'm the latter."

Bethany smiled, then stood up. "This ought to be interesting," she said, winking at him."

"Oh?" A small shadow of the blush from before appeared again on his face. "How so?"

"Solona, the Hero of Ferelden and former Warden-Commander of the Fereldan Order of Grey Wardens… is my cousin."

Blackwall only blinked in response, causing Bethany to giggle. Reaching out, she was delighted to have him take her hand. "Come, Blackwall. Show me about the castle. It's such a wondrous place. I'd love to learn all I can. Is there a library?"

Seeming to recover somewhat, he nodded, shifting so her hand was on his arm. "Aye, there is. Anything for such a singularly _connected_ woman."

Bethany's giggle reverberated throughout the hayloft as they disappeared down the stairs. She wasn't sure what it was, but this man had her captivated without even trying.

* * *

 _A/N: So. New ships. Hawke and Isabela isn't anything new. It's plenty popular. But up until I started writing this fic, I thought I'd be writing Hawke/Merrill. But then I was talking with some friends and it became pretty clear that Isabela needed to be in this fic. Sure, Merrill and Zanneth could've bonded over being Dalish. But... well, Cassandra **really** needs to be teased and tormented by Isabela. It just demanded to happen, so I'm going to let it._

 _The other is Bethany and Blackwall. (Raven has dubbed them B &B) They should be particularly interesting as they get closer..._

 _Hope you enjoyed!_


	9. Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts

_A/N: Hello! First thing's first, I would like to thank Snafu1000 for offering to be a back-up beta. She did so for this chapter, and was wonderful about finding little things I didn't see when I was writing and editing it myself._

 _Second thing, I would like to address something I finally figured out for Leliana. So, as a bard, she was the Nightingale, her real name probably hidden to keep some modicum of personal privacy. In her life after, she goes by her name. And in the Divine's service, she is Sister Leliana. I think I'm going to change my own mentions of this from O Seeker at some point to have them always call her Sister Leliana, and to have Nightingale be a code she uses outside the Chantry, when she doesn't want her position as Left Hand to be known. I have a hard time with subterfuge, so it's taken me kind of a long time to figure out this kinda tiny detail, but it is one that has bothered me for some time._

 _I only bring it up now because it will take some time to make any changes in O Seeker. Also most of y'all have already read that, and you guys seem to pay attention to detail like I do (I've had several people point out details I actually missed in my own writing, for which I am grateful). So I wanted to let you know. Sister Leliana = Leliana post-bard, particularly Leliana as the Left Hand. Nightingale = who Leliana was at court, and who she'll avoid being now because holy God can they ever not recognize her when she's deaf and in Chantry robes._

 _All right. Without further ado, here is the beginning of kind of a long quest line, but hopefully one which will have enough changes to remain interesting and even exciting!_

* * *

 _Chapter 9: Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts_

Leliana watched as Grand Duke Gaspard approached. She knew him by reputation only, but she knew quite a lot. She knew about the scandal that surrounded his youth, with his wife killing Celene's mother, then dying at Celene's father's hand, but not before assuring the man's death along with her own. Then Celene won the empire. And now he was embroiled in a civil war to win it back by force. It was all very… Orlesian.

Now, Leliana took the opportunity to study him. He was of average height – Solona was definitely taller by an inch or two – and his hair was so short as to be bristles atop his head. His pale skin was weathered, but he retained a dignified, experienced visage. Or, at least, what Leliana could see of it under his mask. Gaspard was direct by reputation: not interested in the Game, but playing it expertly nonetheless. He had nothing to lose by inviting the Inquisitor to this masquerade; either they would ally with him, or they would upset the balance, thereby gaining the Grand Duke an opportunity he would otherwise not have.

 _And all under the guise of peace talks._ _He may hate the Game, but he certainly is a product of it_. Leliana felt she might spit.

Leliana walked sedately just behind Zanneth's left hand, closest to the ear which still retained her heightened sense of hearing. Cassandra was at the elf's other elbow. _And here we are, still the Right and Left Hands, only of the Herald now, and not the Divine. Sweet Justinia. If only you were here to see us through this mess…_

They were already inside the antechamber of the main palace, Gaspard leading them, with the Inquisitor on his arm. She cut a handsome figure in the uniform that had been made for them all, a stark contrast yet fine counterpoint to the rather luxurious surcoat and mask the Grand Duke wore.

Cassandra wore the same uniform as Zanneth, also cutting a striking figure. But that was unsurprising. Cassandra was practically _born_ in a uniform.

Leliana was hidden in plain sight in the adornment of a simple Chantry sister. She was well known in court from her early days as a bard, but had not shown her face as the Nightingale since. Always had she dressed as a simple sister for Divine Justinia, one of the many in attendance to the Divine. No one had ever recognized her face. And if anyone did now as one of Justinia's… well, it followed that the Herald of Andraste should have one sworn to Andraste's service at her ear, yes? And from this vantage point, Leliana would see all who looked to the Herald, and only the shrewdest among them would notice Leliana studying them in turn.

Gaspard was no doubt speaking with the Inquisitor, but Leliana could of course not hear him. Should could only trust in the extensive preparations given to Zanneth, and in Cassandra's keen perception. Cassandra detested the Game and rarely played it outright, but she was skilled in observation, and in keeping her mouth shut. The two Hands had a long-standing routine of sharing observations throughout an event. Leliana did the scheming – when the Divine herself would keep free of outright playing – and Cassandra would feed her information, or intervene with whichever guest Leliana deemed necessary. And she would do so tonight, this time with Zanneth's help.

The most obvious player tonight, of course, would be Josephine. She would be playing from within the spotlight, while Leliana played from the shadows. This was Josephine's element. She could charm the pants off anyone she liked, and she would be using that charm for the Inquisition. She might even get in someone's pants, though Leliana doubted it. She did not think Cauthrien would be open to the kind of arrangement Damian Hawke and her own paramour had.

That had been a most curious piece of intelligence. It paid to keep spies in brothels and as barkeeps and tavern wenches. Their information was always unexpected, and often quite useful. Perhaps not immediately, but eventually Leliana found a way to use people's bedroom habits against them, or at the very least to benefit her mission.

Now, the small party approached the main floor of the antechamber. Out of the corner of her eyes, Leliana could see the crier preparing himself, checking the pronunciation of all names with a soldier of the Inquisition. Not everyone would be called, only those with titles of any interest to the Orlesian court. It would be an eclectic bunch, regardless: Cassandra, Solona, Cullen, Revka, Josephine, Vivienne, and Dorian all held titles outside of the Inquisition. And then, of course, there was the Inquisitor herself, a Dalish elf turned Herald of Andraste and then leader of the reborn Inquisition.

Sera and Solas had both agreed to dress in the garb of the Inquisition's servants and infiltrate the kitchens and other typical servants' haunts. Sera would be doing some Red Jenny scouting amongst the servants, to see if she could figure out just what it was Briala was planning for the peace talks. Leliana had been curious at the elf's agreeing to help, but she suspected Solona had much to do with that. Leliana got the impression that Sera found her unnerving.

 _A necessary hazard of my occupation_ , she thought without apology.

Solas was less accommodating, but agreed that playing servant would draw far less attention to himself than an Inquisition tabard and a rapier at his belt, what with the civil unrest amongst the elves of Orlais. He would perform what reconnaissance he could, and keep an eye out for any magical surprises. Leliana did not expect him to find anything, but she was glad for his cooperation. And if the Inquisitor needed help, he would be there to protect her. She did not doubt his pledge to do so.

Bull could not be hidden so easily, but the presence of a mercenary commander pledged as bodyguard to the Inquisitor was easy enough to explain. And he had the added bonus of being a practiced spy, good with people and able to ferret out the smallest details with his one eye. Let him draw eyes away from Leliana, from the Inquisitor, and from any snooping they would require of Sera and Solas. He cut quite a fine figure in the uniform fashioned for the others, though his held no rapier. The thing was pointless for Bull as a weapon, and it would only be seen as inflammatory to give the big, horned qunari a _weapon_. He was quite capable of defending Zanneth without a sword, should it come to that; the man practically _was_ a weapon.

Varric would likely spin his stories for anyone who would listen. He was an adept information gatherer in his own right. Prone to embellishments in his stories, yes, but he would report any truth that he deemed Leliana should know about. And he had the advantage of functioning ears and the knowledge and experience to glean what might be important.

The board was set. Now all Leliana needed to do was move the pieces just so to make this turn out in their favor, and to stop Corypheus from sowing absolute mayhem by depriving Orlais of her empress.

* * *

Zanneth bowed in front of the empress, just as she had been instructed. After some formal pleasantries, the empress moved along.

"Inquisitor," Gaspard said, giving her a stiff bow before moving away. Apparently, Zanneth was to be on her own for now?

"Finally," Cassandra breathed.

"What now?" Zanneth whispered.

"We make our first rendezvous. Head outside to take in the view. We will be better able to speak out there."

Nodding, Zanneth began to wander, smiling as politely as possible to those who greeted her as she passed. The Winter Palace was too large for Zanneth to even know what to do with. Normally, she prided herself on her sense of direction, but already the elf was turned around. Skyhold was larger than this place, but most of the grounds were outdoors, and she could always orient herself using the sun or stars. It would be good to get outside and get a look at the sky.

In addition to being huge, the palace was opulent beyond belief. Skyhold might be bigger, but it was rundown compared to this place, with cracks in the stonework and critters roaming the larders. Zanneth very much doubted anything about this place held critters.

Of course, this was only the part of the palace guests saw.

After many minutes' wandering, Zanneth found a door to a balcony. A guard opened it without being commanded, and Zanneth stepped out into the frigid air. Taking a deep breath, she glanced up at the sky. _North. I'm facing north._

"A fine evening," Cassandra commented. A foot scraped against the ground. It was not a familiar gait. Someone had walked out onto the balcony with them. Zanneth glanced about, looking for the stranger.

It was actually three of them.

"Inquisitor," the ladies said together, their curtseys also simultaneous.

"Ladies," she said, bowing briefly.

"These are the face of the Empress, Inquisitor," Cassandra explained. "They wear the mask of House Valmont, signifying they are the public face of the empress."

"They are also extremely fashionable," one of the ladies said. The others tittered in response.

Zanneth held back a grimace.

"What can I do for you?" she asked instead. Hopefully, she had not said too many words. And had remained polite. A comment about smiling, and people always watching, swam in the back of her mind, and Zanneth tried to at least make her expression less severe. She could not show her distaste for the goings-on.

"We have a message from the empress. It is most important," one lady said.

"Empress Celene is eager to assist the Herald of Andraste in her holy endeavor," another said. Zanneth just blinked politely, but internally she was surprised they cut to the chase so quickly. She'd been warned that everyone would use far too many words, and their meaning would be enfolded within.

"She would pledge her full and considerable support to the Inquisition as soon as the usurper Gaspard is defeated."

 _Ah. There it is. They want something from me. An immediate show of support._

"That's… a generous offer," Zanneth said, hoping that was neutral enough.

All three women smiled. "The empress believes wholeheartedly that the Inquisition is our best hope for peace in these difficult times."

"She looks forward to cementing a formal alliance."

"We have taken enough of your time. Enjoy the masquerade, Inquisitor." All three curtseyed once more, and then they were gone, leaving Zanneth alone on the balcony with Cassandra and Leliana.

"Well, we will obviously not get close enough to the empress to warn her tonight," Cassandra mused. The warrior marched to the railing around the balcony, peering over the edge before nodding in satisfaction.

"I don't understand," Zanneth said.

"The empress could have said all that herself," Leliana murmured, reminding Zanneth to look at the woman when she spoke. "But she sent those imbeciles to us instead. She won't be seeing anyone up close tonight. Not even _you_."

"I see…" Zanneth did not see, but she didn't think she would be getting a better explanation.

"It is good for one thing," Cassandra said, turning and leaning against the balcony railing. "If we can't get close, then the assassin will also have a difficult time doing so."

"Which means, if the assassin is here and planning to kill her, then it is someone close to her. Not just a servant." Leliana pursed her lips in thought. "We need more information. We have all avenues except the empress and her family covered. Perhaps… ah, yes, I know."

"What?"

"You must dance with the Grand Duchess, Inquisitor. I saw her eyeing you. She is _very_ interested in you." Leliana's eyes flicked to Cassandra. "Perhaps she wants you in her bed? She has a particular affinity for the female elven servants."

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. "I'd like to see her try."

"Why must I dance with _her_ , specifically?" Zanneth wanted to know.

"Because this is _her_ party," Leliana said. "She orchestrated this night. She will have answers, if you know where amongst her words to look."

"I cannot begin to know what to look for," Zanneth said.

"Just dance with her, Inquisitor. _We_ will find the answers. All you need do is listen, and keep your own answers as neutral as possible. A little flattery of your host never hurt, either."

Zanneth made a frustrated noise, not knowing the first thing about neutrality or flattery, but agreed nonetheless. She had no other real choice. They regrouped and stepped back into the antechamber, heading for the ballroom itself and, hopefully, the Grand Duchess Florianne.

* * *

Solona stood in the ballroom, smiling politely at those who greeted her. She was well known at court, though it had been some time since she had appeared. No doubt those here were curious as to why she had been absent so long.

Solona hated these parties. The good food and drink was _never_ worth it. But she used what clout she possessed as the Hero of Ferelden to glean what information she could. Mostly, she served as an excellent diversion, taking attention away from elsewhere so someone else could operate unnoticed. It was unsavory, but she understood the importance of Leliana's work. Solona, too, had felt called to serve Justinia, using the skills and talents she possessed to extend the Divine's reach. They both served in what ways they could.

Serving as a distraction was her job now. So far she had not been asked to dance, but it had only been twenty minutes since their arrival. She hated being away from Leliana's side during these events, but neither of them could do their jobs – nor could they maintain Leliana's anonymity – if they were attached at the hip and speaking with their hands. So she wandered, sipping at sparkling wine and plastering a smile on her face.

 _Honestly, all the shit I've been through, and now I'm here? I'd almost take Corypheus again. At least I know what he truly thinks of me._

An involuntary shudder ran down Solona's spine. She still wasn't sleeping. She had yet to take Solas up on his offer. She'd been too busy, only remembering at night when she wandered Skyhold, when the elven mage was asleep. She couldn't very well wake him up from slumber just to meditate with him and drag him into the Fade with her. Perhaps on the journey back to Skyhold she could ask him? She would endeavor to remember.

"Well, well. What have we here?"

Solona nearly jumped, sloshing her expensive, effervescent wine on her sleeve. The voice belonged to a ghost from her past, someone she had allowed to get away and never pursued. Someone she was not sure to this day how she felt about, but whom she knew Leliana would be quite sour to ever see again.

The arcane warrior turned, finding…

"Morrigan?"

The Witch of the Wilds smiled back at her, a small thing as it always had been. She stood resplendent in a gown fit for any member of the court, though dark and unquestionably _different_ from the rest of those gathered in the ballroom. Her cleavage was on prominent display – no change there – and her hair was done in an elegant bun not unlike how Solona had last seen her, though decidedly more polished.

All of the witch's appearance was more polished. It… suited her. There was something different about her… _Is she indeed a mother?_ Solona wondered. The thought sparked many, many memories, and questions she had not thought about for some time.

"Might I have this dance, Lady Amell?"

Hearing that voice was like taking a step back through time. They had never said goodbye. They had been friends, but had disagreed on many things. Solona did not know what to feel. But she had enough experience at court to recover from her shock. She nodded, not trusting her voice just yet, and held out her arm. Morrigan's hand slipped into the crook of her elbow.

Solona moved Morrigan out into the middle of the dance floor, away from those who stood at its edge so that they might have a modicum of privacy. Turning, she put her hand to Morrigan's waist and began a slow, gentle waltz.

It was almost half a minute before Morrigan spoke, her yellow eyes looking up through dark, heavy lashes. "Not even a word for me, Solona?"

"I… do not honestly know what to say," Solona responded, looking about so she did not steer Morrigan into another dancing couple. "I did not ever expect to see you again."

" _I_ am unsurprised to see you here." Morrigan moved like silk through Solona's hands as the arcane warrior turned her.

"Oh?"

"Here with the leader of the Inquisition, fabled Herald of the Faith, delivered from the grasp of the Fade by the hand of blessed Andraste Herself?" Morrigan's tone was not quite so caustic as Solona remembered, but still it dripped sarcasm when her mouth formed the name of the Maker's Bride. "You are the last surviving member of the Order of Arcane Warriors. You are able to straddle the Veil. The Veil, which has been punctured. I am _unsurprised_ you would be pulled into such happenings. What I have not yet deduced," Morrigan continued, not allowing Solona to comment, "is what would bring Andraste's Herald here to the Imperial court? Does she even know she is a lost lamb in a den of wolves?"

Solona turned Morrigan once more before responding. "She appears to be holding her own."

"Indeed. With the Right and Left Hands of the Divine at her side, how could she not?"

"I see nothing slips your notice."

Morrigan's gaze pierced right through her. "Please, Solona. Do give me some credit. I would know Leliana anywhere. I would not, however, endanger any of you by letting slip that information."

"Not even to further your position?"

Morrigan pursed her lips, furrowing her eyebrows. "I would hope our acquaintance means more than that to _you_ , as it does to me."

"I do not know what our acquaintance means to you, Morrigan. You left without even a farewell. For all I knew, you died in Denerim."

Guilt flashed briefly over Morrigan's features, so swiftly that Solona was not quite sure she had seen it. "I…"

"Surely you did not seek me out to rehash old grudges, Morrigan," Solona said. This was not the time to find a place of understanding or to share their histories.

"Indeed." After another few moments of dancing, Morrigan slipped her hand out of Solona's. When it returned, something hard and cool was pressed into Solona's gloved palm. "Perhaps you and I are here for the same purpose," she said.

"Oh?"

"I aim to protect Celene, but I cannot leave her side for long if she is in danger, and she _is_ in danger."

"Is she? And from whom? What is your interest in the empress?"

"Some call me an advisor to her, on matters of the arcane, but our relationship is… she protects me, and in turn I share information with her; she quite curious about magic, and about my upbringing in the Wilds. I also protect her where I can. I took this key off an agent of Tevinter I killed in Celene's private quarters. I was hoping that perhaps you or one of Leliana's people could investigate why the man was here."

"You just killed him? You did not keep him alive for interrogation?"

"Had he not attacked me first, I might not have needed to kill him. You are far from unfamiliar in matters like these, Hero."

Solona considered Morrigan silently for a moment. "Tell me. When did you come to court? Vivienne was the empress's court advisor when last I was here."

"Madam de Fer spent her time at the du Ghislain estate outside Val Royeaux, or at the White Spire fulfilling her duties as First Enchanter. She mostly advised Celene from afar unless there was some soiree she need attend. When the Circles rebelled, I saw an opportunity, what with _all_ mages now considered apostates. Celene and I are… friends. Or, friendly. I carry no illusions about the difference in our stations. I am here to sate her curiosity, and in the meantime we have grown to like each other in the last year and more."

Solona narrowed her eyes, but nodded. "I have been… indisposed. It is disorienting to return to see things so changed."

"Perhaps, depending on how the evening goes, you can tell me what had such a mighty being such as yourself indisposed. Perhaps… well, perhaps I can help."

"You? Help?"

"Do not be a peeve, Solona. I left for my own reasons, but before that, I did count you a friend. Perhaps the truest friend I have ever had." Yellow eyes held Solona's as the witch spoke. Solona knew she was telling the most honest truth she was capable of.

"All right," Solona said before bowing. The song had ended. "I will do this thing." She held out her arm, and Morrigan took it. Solona escorted her back to the edge of the dance floor. "I hope I can still count you as friend."

"And I you." Morrigan curtseyed. "What comes next will be most… _exciting_."

Then she was gone. Solona shook her head, unable to keep a smile from pulling at her lips. The woman was not quite so abrasive, but she was still Morrigan.

 _Leliana is not going to like this variable_.

* * *

Josephine hugged her sister fiercely to her.

"Oh, Yvette, it _is_ good to see you," she exclaimed in Antivan. It had taken her the better part of a half-hour to even _find_ her sister, her dark skin lost in the dim of the ballroom. The mask didn't help, either. In the end, Yvette had found _her_ , as Josephine was much more conspicuous in her Inquisition uniform.

It was far less feminine than what she typically wore to these events, but there was a certain freedom to it. Instead of her mask showing her station, it was her whole person. She had been afraid she would feel exposed, but with the tabard and the rapier – which she actually _was_ quite skilled with – the ambassador actually felt safer than she usually did in such situations.

Yvette pulled back from their embrace, fixing the skewed mask on her face. She was barely a girl of seventeen. She would be marriageable soon. Did she have any suitors in mind as of yet? Surely she'd met _someone_ at that expensive art school on the coast?

"I've _missed_ you being in Orlais, Josephine!" the girl said now, her smile clear behind her mask. "How did you succeed in obtaining an invitation?"

"The invitation was for the Inquisitor and her party," Josephine explained, not removing her hands from Yvette's shoulders, holding her gently, not yet ready to give up the embrace. She had not seen her sister for nearly eight months. A seventeen year old did a lot of growing in that time.

"So exciting!" The younger woman veritably squealed as she spoke. "I cannot believe it is _you_ who is to rebuild the reputation of the Inquisition! It is difficult to even think of! Such an ancient thing, brought to life anew!"

Josephine laughed. "Yes! It is exciting! Though it is not _just_ me. You remember Revka Amell, yes? Ferelden's ambassador?" Yvette nodded, enthusiastic. "She resigned her post and accompanied me to serve the Divine. Oh, you must see her! She is here, and rather _large_ with child!"

"Oh!" Yvette looked around comically. "Where is she?"

"Come, I will show you. I'm sure she'll be eager to see you, too. And you can meet her very _handsome_ husband!"

It took some time, but finally Josephine had Yvette speaking enthusiastically with Revka, who had found some comfortable-looking cushions on which to rest her bulk. Really, the woman seemed far larger than she should be at this stage. She still had a month more left, according to Solona. Josephine was not sure if it was Revka or Cullen who had more of Yvette's attention, but she knew that while Revka could handle the girl, Cullen was left bemused at her sister's heavily accented chattering.

"Lady Montilyet."

Josephine turned to see a tall, masked gentleman standing some ways away. Josephine excused herself, leaving her sister with Revka and Cullen, and moved closer to the stranger. "Yes?" she said after offering a small curtsey.

He bowed. "I apologize. You would not recognize me, despite our acquaintance through our families, and more recently through written correspondence." His voice was pleasant as he spoke in Orlesian. "I am Comte Boisvert."

"Oh! Yes, of course!" Josephine curtseyed again, her smile genuine. It had been many years since she had actually seen the man, and then she had been so small as to have spent most of their meeting hidden behind her mother's skirts. "I thought our meeting was not for a while yet? I hope you did not come seek me out because I was late?"

"Please, nothing is amiss," Boisvert said. "There has been a last-minute change in the availability of a private venue. I sought you out to see if you might be willing to move our meeting earlier."

"That will not be a problem." Josephine glanced around briefly, her heart hammering. This was personal business, yet here she stood in the heraldry of the Inquisition. "Is now a good time?"

"But of course." The comte offered his arm. "The salon is not available at the time we had initially planned, but it _is_ available now. I imagine our conversation will not take long."

Josephine took his arm with a smile, but inside her heart churned. Her system was already flooded with adrenaline. She could feel it, calling her to move, to run, burning bitter in the back of her throat. Taking a steadying breath, she forced the instinct down and away. It would not serve her here. Perhaps in a true combat situation, that instinct was appropriate. But in this metaphorical nest of vipers, running would only lead to her ruination.

Several minutes later, Josephine was sitting in a chair pulled out for her by Boisvert. Chilled wine was served, and Josephine was grateful. It might be freezing outside, but the winter palace was stifling when full of people, especially in her high-collared uniform. Taking a sip, Josephine was pleased to see that the fluttering of her heart did not reach her hands. Unsteady hands were a dead giveaway.

"If you do not mind, I would jump straight to business," the comte said as he took his own seat. Josephine attempted to gauge his eyes, but his mask combined with the dim lighting of the room to keep them in shadow. Josephine would need to remember she herself wore no mask and could not afford to even narrow her eyes at the wrong time. She was fine now, with a family friend, but later, out on the ballroom floor or meeting with nobles to vie for coin and favor, she would need to employ every tool in her arsenal, and _remember_ her weaknesses.

"After everything," Josephine said, thinking of the blood-soaked parchment, "I very much wish to get to the bottom of this mystery."

"Very well. Have you heard of the House of Repose?"

"The assassin's league?" Josephine immediately sat forward in her chair.

"I have contacts in… unsavory places," Boisvert explained, reaching inside his waistcoat. "They have obtained a copy of a document. A contract for a life." He placed a small, rolled piece of parchment and slid it into the center of the table.

Josephine stared at it for a moment. What could it say? Who did it condemn? How was this related to her? To trade? To the Montilyets? What had this to do with a trading house in Antiva? She extended her hand out, plucking the roll of parchment from the table. Her wine sat forgotten as she unrolled it.

' _The House of Repose is hereby sworn to eliminate anyone attempting to overturn the Montilyet's trading exile in Orlais.'_ Josephine stared, keeping her expression neutral. There was more to it, but those words were the crux of the document. This was it. It would not end with the couriers. They were just a warning of the hell to come.

"But… why?" It was all she could think to ask. "We haven't even traded in Orlais since my _grandmother's grandmother_ was a child!"

"The contract was signed by a noble family in Orlais, as you can see at the bottom. The du Paraquettes."

"But… but their nobility died out over sixty years ago!" The du Paraquettes _had_ been her family's rivals. Her grandmother, mother, and now Josephine herself had kept eyes on them from afar because of that history, even though they had not held a noble title for several generations. So how was this happening _now_? She scanned the document. There. A date. This document was _old_.

"Yes, but the contract was signed _one hundred and nine_ years ago. I believe that it was put into place after the Montilyets were driven out of Orlais. Insurance, as they say."

"And then was not invoked until I tried to overturn my family's trade exile," Josephine finished.

"Precisely."

Josephine fought the urge to frown. _This is all my fault. But why?! Why should I be punished for trying to overturn my family's fortunes?!_

"Unpleasant though it may be," the comte continued, "the House of Repose is merely fulfilling its contractual duties."

Josephine looked into the comte's eyes again. This man… he knew _quite_ a lot. It was strange… Of course, he had the contract before she ever saw it. Perhaps he was just putting two and two together?

Her mind was racing. How to fix this? She could rain hellfire down upon the entire House of Repose. She could ask Leliana, and it would be done. Cauthrien herself might ride in on a flaming stallion and kill every last one of the men and women blocking her way. The two of them had a similar sense of justice, if entirely different methods in enacting said justice.

But Josephine did not wish to do that, for a number of reasons. Leliana would use her Inquisition agents, and Josephine wanted to keep this away from the Inquisition. She would not abuse her position. Cauthrien would be killed, and Josephine would _not_ be responsible for that. Not least because, as time went on, it was clear their affection for each other had grown. Neither of them whispered of love, but the inclination had presented itself on more than one occasion, naked and luxuriating in the post-coital bliss of a warm fire and Aisling's warm body next to her own. Perhaps someday. Perhaps… well, Cauthrien had asked what marriage in Antiva was like for the noble houses. Josephine had described it in great detail, her heart aflutter that Cauthrien would so boldly ask such a question. Perhaps it would be sooner rather than later?

The biggest reason why Josephine did not wish to ask her protective friends for their help, however, was because violence was not the answer to this problem. It was senseless, needless. Perhaps sometimes it must come to an exchange of blows, but she could solve this without confronting the entirety of Orlais's assassins. Her time as a bard had taught her that violence was a road she did not wish to go down, nor did she have the aptitude for it. She could not justify going there, not for her own gain. She knew how to defend herself, yes, but she would _not_ make the first offensive move. Never again.

"The du Paraquettes still have descendants under the common branch," Josephine mused, thinking on what she had last read of them. They were tanners in Val Royeaux. Perhaps… "I could call in some favors and restore the nobility of their House, in exchange for their agreement to nullify the assassination contract."

Boisvert took a sip of wine before responding. "That will take time, Lady Montilyet. Time during which the House of Repose will be obliged to hunt you."

Josephine's eyes snapped to the masked face. "Will they now?" Josephine took a deep breath. "You are not Comte Boisvert."

"A bit of subterfuge only," the man before her said. It was clear now that he was, in fact, an agent of the House of Repose. All of his information suddenly made sense. "This contract on your life is an ugly business, one the House of Repose deeply regrets. But this is Orlais. Our word is our bond. And if it is not in this case, then it will never be again."

"Why are you here?"

"The contract on your life is so unusual, we felt the courtesy of an explanation was in order."

Josephine breathed deeply, heart hammering in fear. Plastering a small smile on her face, she said, "Come, monsieur. We both know that hearing why you are being killed is no comfort. And we both know you are not going to walk away from this truly _golden_ opportunity to carry out your obligations. To remain true to your _binding word_."

It happened so fast that, if she were not expecting it, she would have missed it and now be dead, her blood running a river across the marble floor of Halamshiral. A knife flashed in the candlelight, the orange of it mesmerizing. Josephine's hand shot up at the same time, catching the wrist holding the knife. Before he could respond, Josephine had her thumb pressed deeply into the soft spot of his wrist. The knife fell into her waiting left hand. Without thinking twice, she moved, flipping the knife and flicking it in his direction.

A cough, a choke, a gurgle, and then everything was still.

Everything except for Josephine's heart, which rammed against her ribs so hard she was afraid it might just escape her chest. She sat completely still, in utter disbelief. Her breathing was shallow, rapid. She could barely feel her feet. She just… she just killed a man without leaving her chair!

* * *

 _A shout resonates around her. She runs after the young man. He lands, his neck at an impossible angle. He is still. His chest does not rise._

 _Josephine removes his mask. She_ _ **knows**_ _him._

* * *

No longer able to keep the tremor from her hands, Josephine rose to her feet. The table was painted in blood. A drop of it somehow made its way into her white wine, and there it sat, fat and lazily, thin arms crystal clear in her post-murder haze as it was slowly diluted in the golden liquid.

The blood originated from the wound in his throat, out of which protruded the knife with which he had attempted to kill her. Hands still shaking, Josephine reached out, pulling the mask from the man's face, an absurd fear making her heart pound so loudly that she could not for the life of her hear anything else.

No. It was not any face she might recognize. Handsome, surely. But not familiar. At least there was that.

 _He tried to kill me first. There was no other way. But now what? Yvette is here. The Inquisitor. If anyone finds out about this…_

Josephine examined the room, circling it with a steady prowl. It had been a very long time since she had to be this methodical. But once learned, the knowledge never left. On a shared wall, she found it, a mechanism that depressed a panel of the wall. Pushing on it, Josephine slid it aside, finding the servants' passage empty. Steeling herself, she went to the assassin's body. Using his own belt sash, she tied off the wound to keep it from bleeding further, so it would not drip onto the ground. She then took his arm and _hauled_.

It was hard work, but Josephine finally deposited him inside the hidden passage. She was sweating by the time she was done. She moved the small table she had been sitting at, as well, unable to do anything else for all the blood. Finally, Josephine moved the chairs so that they did not look like there had ever been a table in the first place.

Then she took stock. She likely had not escaped any blood on her clothes, but they were black. A quick inspection of the gold embroidery told her it was safe. But her white gloves were another matter. Sighing, she removed them, wiping her brow with a clean section before tucking them along with the assassination contract inside of her jacket. They could not be found, or the Inquisition would be incriminated, so she must keep them on her person. Moving to the door, Josephine took a deep breath, plastered on a pleasant expression, and left the room.

She had her answers. Now, she just needed to get through the night. Then she could begin her plans to remove this contract on her life.


	10. Snooping at the Winter Palace

Solona walked steadily through the antechamber. The key Morrigan gave her weighed heavily in her pocket, seeming to tell all around her that she was attempting to sneak where she had no right to be. But she knew from experience that as long as you looked like you knew what you were doing, most people left you alone. Everyone here was a guest. Hardly any of them would truly know if Solona was out of place, even with her standing out so among the crowd.

"Ah, Hero!" someone greeted her. She smiled, bowed, and maneuvered so the man could not corner her for conversation, looking off into the distance and waving at no one.

" _Je suis désolé, monsieur_ _!_ " she called, disappearing into the crowd.

Near the wine table, she found both Bull and Dorian. Sera poured the two of them wine.

"Hello, gentlemen," Solona said, clapping them both on the back.

"Ah, Ser Hero!" Dorian exclaimed, beaming, all signs of discomfort in her presence gone. She knew it was not because he was actually that comfortable with her now, but because he knew not to show it here, in this place.

"Lady Amell," Bull grunted. Solona pursed her lips, but said nothing. He knew it would irk her. That had been the point of addressing her as "lady." To say something against it would just let him win.

She eyed Sera. She couldn't acknowledge that they were close, but the two of them had discussed how they might signal each other, as Sera could not very well approach Leliana and give her information directly. They had settled on a simple hand-gesture, and Sera did so now.

"Girl," she said, and Sera looked up. "My companions and I would like a bit of a tasting. Grab a few bottles and come along."

Sera nodded, keeping her smirk under wraps, and turned, exchanging words in Orlesian with one of the house servants. She was playing the part of an Inquisition servant "on loan" to the palace staff, as a gesture of good will. It also allowed her to put her gifted hearing to good use. _And_ to make contact with some of her Friends she knew who served in the palace.

"Great idea," she whispered as they reached a table along the wall. She began pouring small samples into three glasses.

"I was pretty pleased with myself for it," Solona said as she sipped, covering her lips with her glass. Leliana was not the only bard skilled at reading lips, and none of them wished to be found out as discussing anything other than wine.

"Any news?" Bull asked. He faced the wall, allowing him the ability to not speak with his mouth covered.

"Aye. Made contact as a fellow Jenny with some of 'em, and they're pissed."

"Who at?"

"Ev'ryone," Sera said, taking Solona's glass and wiping it out to make room for a new kind of wine. "Gaspard's a prick, Celene purged th'Alienage, an' Briala was fucking her while she did it."

Bull whistled low. "That's cold."

"Also been listenin'. They're quiet aroun' me, but it seems like some people are missin'."

"What I've heard confirms that," Bull said. He drained his glass and handed it to Sera. "Gimme the white crap," he said, a little too loud. "A full glass of it." Solona's eyes flickered to the gaggle of women passing behind him. _Damn. The man doesn't even need the one eye he has, he's so good at using those ears. And there's no way all that wine will get him drunk, but the other guests don't know that. Smart man, making a show of drinking himself into a stupor._

"You look like _you_ have news, too," Dorian observed, his beaming smile not hiding the calculating look in his eyes, which were fixed on Solona. "You look like you've seen a ghost, in fact."

Solona cursed her inability to keep her thoughts off her face. "Is it that obvious?"

"No. It's your eyes. Not many people will get close enough to see _those_."

"Fair enough." Solona considered her wine, turning it again and again in her glass. "Ghost is an apt expression. Someone from my past… _reappeared_. She gave me a key and bade me explore. I'm not sure where it goes, but…"

"We're goin' explorin'?" Sera whispered excitedly.

"I suppose we are," Solona said, smirking down at Sera. She drained her glass and held it out for the next type of wine.

"All of us?" Dorian asked.

"Should split up. Me 'n Solona'll find what door it is. You 'n Bull look in the crannies, see if you can find any of the missing servants. Prob'ly dead."

"How in all Thedas do you expect a qunari to _snoop_ , Sera?" Dorian was exasperated. Solona couldn't blame him. It was a fair question. The man was massive, and besides that a _qunari_ for the Makr's sake. He blended in about as well as Max would among a litter of kittens.

Sera shrugged. "Pretend to be drunk. Find a hidden place t'snog. Or puke. You can pretend t'help him with either one."

"That… is simple enough it might just work," Dorian said after a moment. "All right. Bull and I will find a place."

Bull chuckled. "You wanna tangle tongues with me, poncy boy?"

"I have many talents, Bull. I can handle any manner of man, even the tall, horned, _savage_ variety."

Solona smirked. "Fine. Meet me back in half an hour. I'm due to report to Leliana by the next candlemark."

"I say, this pinot noir is by far the best here," Dorian exclaimed. He grabbed the bottle from Sera. "Come along, Bull. Let's celebrate _privately_." His eyes got a fiery look that seemed to _dare_ Bull to meet him in the lie.

The giant man chuckled low and thick. "All right, boy, but it's _your_ funeral." They wandered off together after Bull drained his full glass and shoved it back into Sera's waiting hands.

"Not sure Bull is fakin'," Sera remarked.

"I'm not sure _Dorian_ is," Solona countered, watching the two disappear. Then she produced the key. "Can you tell where this goes by looking?"

"Actually… yeah," Sera said, plucking it from Solona's grasp. "Meet me in tha' empty hallway by th'entrance. This goes to the servants' quarters."

Solona nodded. Louder, she said, "I'll take a glass of the pinot. Dorian was right. Off with you now." She even dismissed Sera with a wave of her hand. Normally, it would make her sick, but putting this act on was almost as fun as the heist to get into Marjolaine's house had been, "drunkenly" singing a drinking song with Alistair and Sten through the streets of Denerim. Almost. When this involved a drinking song, then it would be as fun.

Minutes later, Solona had wandered her way through the crowd back to the entrance. A servant eyed her, so she went directly to the man. "I seem to be lost. I need the privy," she said. "Too much wine." The glass had, at least, been drained. Solona could hold her liquor quite well, and a simple glass of wine was not enough to dull her senses.

The man looked up at her with disdain. "This way, ser," he said stiffly, leading her away from the hallway. His were the only prying eyes. Without a word or a sound, she stepped back into the hallway, watching him walk through the crowd. He turned, presumably looking to make sure she followed, and stopped when he did not find her on his heels. By the time he came back to his position by the door, Solona was well within the shadows, her dark skin and black uniform hiding her. She waited until he turned, resuming his post, before turning and slipping down the hall.

"Took ya long 'nough," Sera's voice whispered, and then she appeared out of the shadows of the stairway leading down into the basement. "Checked the key already, an' I was right. It works."

"All right, well, no more delays. Let us discover why a Venatori agent would be wandering the halls of Halamshiral, yes?"

Sera's grin was barely visible in the dimness. "Let's!"

* * *

Dorian leaned against a rail, laughing. Bull pressed himself against him.

"I don't hear anybody out here," the big man murmured.

"Then why are you still pressing your great bulk against me?" Dorian countered, shoving the qunari off.

Bull chuckled, letting the Tevinter mage do so. "All talk and no play?"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. As if I would _want_ someone like _you_." Dorian's eyes raked down Bull's form from top to bottom, not quite expressing the displeasure his voice did. There was definitely a spark of curiosity there. "Your people are great enemies of mine."

"You and I aren't _exactly_ prime examples of our _people_ , kid."

"Stop it with that, will you? 'Boy', 'kid'; I am a man, not a child."

Bull just grinned. "I was fucking men and women in equal measure when you were _born_. I'll call you whatever I _want_."

Dorian straightened his tabard. "Indeed. What a way to call yourself older and more mature. Talking about a newborn and coitus in the same breath." He began walking. "You'll at least let me know if you hear anything, yes?"

"Yeah, I will." Bull eyed the man. "And isn't that how newborns are _made_?"

"Well, yes, but only with women."

"You make that sound like it's a bad thing."

"It is when you aren't inclined to keep the company of women, yes. It gets you rather in a lot of trouble if you insist on the company of men, however"

Bull opened his mouth to rib further, but something told him to refrain. The set of Dorian's shoulders and the straight line of his lips told the qunari that perhaps there was pain behind Dorian's flippant tone. Instead, he just hummed low in his throat.

They were quiet as they walked out in the gardens. Dorian still carried the bottle of wine. Bull could hear it sloshing back and forth gently in its container.

Suddenly, Dorian began speaking again. "It truly doesn't bother you to be seen with a 'Vint,' as you call us?"

"Is that what you are?" Bull smirked. "All you humans look the same to us heathens."

A frown pulled at Dorian's lips. "I'm also a mage. Would you prefer me bound and leashed?"

 _Ah. So that's where the resentment's coming from,_ Bull thought. He eyed Dorian from the corner of his one eye. "I'd buy you dinner first."

Dorian's lips turned down in a small frown. "Hopefully before you sewed my _mouth_ shut," he muttered.

 _Depends on if you keep yapping_ , Bull thought to himself.

"I'm not sure I trust you won't stick a knife in my back," Dorian continued. "Tevinter _and_ mage. I know how you qunari feel about both of those."

"Listen. Have you used your magic to set any buildings full of kids on fire?"

"Um… not today, no."

Bull chuckled. "Then don't worry about it. There's a lot more people who need a knife in the back first."

"Hardly comforting, but… I see your point."

"Do you? Because it seems like you have this picture of what I am and what makes me tick without knowing a single damn thing about _me_."

Dorian _hmphed_ , but said nothing. Bull let it go. He knew he'd said enough. Any more pushing, and Dorian would grow completely defensive and not think at _all_ on what Bull had said.

Several minutes later, Bull heard something. He immediately began running.

"What is it?!" Dorian was just a few feet behind him.

"Someone's in trouble. Screaming. Sounds like weapons."

"Shouldn't we stay out of it?"

Bull shook his head and put on a burst of speed. "Yeah, but we also need to _see_ it."

He stopped before rounding the corner of a building, instead evening out his breathing so he could listen.

"Dammit, it's quiet," he whispered. Dorian stood next to him, breathing far too hard for the small amount of running they'd done. "You need to work out if you're gonna be joining the Inquisitor on the battlefield, Dorian."

"Shut it, you. I grew lazy this winter, all right?" His eyes glazed briefly as he continued. "I got some… bad news. I spent a lot of time holed up." His blue-grey eyes flashed up at Bull for just a moment. "Mourning."

Bull hummed. Must have been Alexius's son, Felix. He'd wondered if they'd been an item. "We'll talk about it later. Come on. Let's see what's going on out there."

Dorian nodded, and they burst around the corner.

The garden was lush and green, with a wending path of gravel. Ahead was a large fountain, and lying just in front of it was…

"This guy isn't a servant," Bull mused, looking around as he approached, straining his ears. What happened to the struggle he'd just heard? Upon closer examination, he frowned. "Seems to be a member of the Council of Heralds."

"Is that the Chalons family crest on the hilt? What have you been up to, Gaspard?" Dorian's tone was back to its normal flippancy.

"I suppose Zanneth'll have to have a word with the Duke…"

Just then, a scream sounded, seemingly right on top of them. Dorian's hands crackled with energies at a murmured word, the wine bottle making a soft _thud_ against the grass as he dropped it. Bull's flared his nostrils. He couldn't find it, couldn't find the struggle. Then he heard… something. A soft _whoosh_.

A body crashed to the ground in front of them: elven, in the uniform of a servant. Bull glanced up to see a masked and hooded figure looking down on them from the roof. It was still, silent.

"Come down and face us like a man!" Dorian called.

The figure was still for another moment, before Bull heard a man's voice call. "Dorian? Dorian Pavus?"

Bull's face snapped to look at Dorian, whose dusky skin had gone nearly white as a sheet in the moonlight. "What? What is it?"

"That… was my father's voice."

* * *

"Well. This fits th' description of one of the missin' servants," Sera said.

Solona pursed her lips, studying the corpse on the floor before her. "Why did they just leave her here to rot?!"

"Who c'n say? Maybe they're lazy? Maybe in a hurry?"

"Or maybe we were meant to find them. Look, here," Solona said, showing a dagger still sticking from the woman's back. "It's the Chalons crest."

"So Gaspy did it? He's plottin' the killin'? He's with Coryphispit?"

Solona shook her head, sitting back on her heels. "I don't think so. It's just too obvious."

"What d'ya mean?"

"Well. Firstly, the body. Who kills a servant and then leaves the body here, in the middle of the _larder_? And then the weapon. This is a beautiful, exquisite dagger. Clearly a family heirloom. Not something you just leave buried in your last victim."

"But if they were in a hurry…" Sera looked dubious even as she tried to refute Solona's claim.

"I have wielded weaponry for over a decade and the only time I have lost a weapon was when my staff was obliterated. As it was when I killed the archdemon, I don't think anyone would blame me for that one." She shook her head. "No. _This_ is a family heirloom. Whoever left it here is looking to frame the Grand Duke. I refuse to believe the general is _that_ stupid, to have one of his people do this and be this sloppy about the cleanup."

Sera walked around the room. "If ya say so. Most nobles're so stupid, there isn't much I wouldn't put past 'em."

Solona smirked. "This is true, but in this case… this is the sort of thing they're usually _very_ smart about. It's nearly all they do. Hence the need for bards and double-dealings and all those other things – it helps obscure the truth."

"Learn all that noble politics shite from Leliana, did ya?"

Solona frowned. "How do you mean?"

"Well, she used to play, right? She's all mysterious and spy-y. She knows the court so well, she's organizin' all the information from her spot next to Inky; she had to have been a bard herself, yeah?" Sera plucked something from a shelf, holding it up to the light to show it to be a small statue of a halla. She tucked it into her belt pouch and continued examining the contents of the room.

"What are you saying?"

"Just that she's fecking scary, yeah? Don't know how ya share a bed with her."

Solona narrowed her eyes. "What's this about, Sera?"

Sera turned sad eyes on her. "You… what do you see in her, Solona?"

That took Solona completely by surprise. "Excuse me?"

Sera marched closer, crossing her arms and leaning a hip against the table by which Solona stood. "What does she do for ya? Don't ya need someone who's… _warm_?"

"Leliana is plenty warm with _me_."

"An' ya really want someone who's only warm with _you_? Don't ya want someone who's good to ev'ryone?"

Solona frowned, feeling very much on the defensive. But she couldn't let that get in the way of their mission here. Taking a deep breath, she pushed her emotions aside and said, "I think this is entirely the wrong place to discuss this. Come on. We have more to explore."

"Know it's not a good time, right? But shite, you're never alone, Solona! You're with patients, or Inky's there, or you're up in the rookery with Leliana! I haven' been able to _talk_ to you, just the two of us!"

Solona pursed her lips. "If you think you're going to convince me to leave my lover of eleven years, who stood by me through the Blight and all that followed, who remained faithful while I was _missing_ and in Alexius's custody, with one simple conversation over a _dead body_ , then you are very, _very_ wrong, Sera."

"I…"

"Let's go." Solona moved past the elf, her frown feeling like it had been permanently etched into her skin. Where the hell had that come from? Why would she mention it now? Clearly, Sera fancied her, but why now and why like this? Why was the elf attacking _Leliana_ if what she wanted was Solona to consider _Sera_ as an alternative? Shouldn't she appeal to Solona directly?

The mage didn't understand it. But now was most _definitely_ not the time to puzzle it out.

They moved through several rooms, all with dead bodies – these without precious Chalons family heirlooms – before running into anyone living.

"The Hero!"

"The Hero of Ferelden!"

"To arms!"

There were six opponents in all, another dead elf on the ground at one's feet. Solona pulled the rapier at her side. Looking to Sera, she nodded at the elf's outstretched hands before tossing the weapon to her, knowing she had no weapons of her own, disguised as a servant as she was. Then Solona was running, letting the curtain within her fall so she had access to the powers of the Fade.

Time seemed to pull and stretch. With more time and concentration, she might be able to straddle the Veil at will, but she was still affected by her time as Alexius's prisoner. Straddling the Veil during sparring had not been available to her since before she first met Dorian. Her mind just could not concentrate enough.

But that did not mean she was not powerful. She leapt to avoid the slash of a sword, her body going horizontal so she could push off the wall. Landing, she immediately let her legs go out from under her to avoid another's weapons. As she slid backward, she concentrated, sending out a wave of force that knocked all in her immediate vicinity to the floor.

Pushing off the ground, Solona was on her feet again, still moving. A quick glance at Sera told her that, while the bow was the elf's favored weapon, she held enough skill with a rapier to hold her own against those masked Venatori still standing. She halted, looking around as her enemies regained their feet. What would take care of these enemies without damaging the rest of the hall? She did not wish to make it obvious it was _she_ who caused so much destruction here.

All it took was a thought, and then electricity was dancing around Solona's hands. With a cry, she shoved her hand out, and lightning leapt from her palm to the masked enemy nearest her. He seized briefly, his voice croaking out of him, his weapon dropping from rigid fingers.

It was all Solona needed. Letting the curtain drop back into place, Solona swept up the weapon, turning to face her next opponent just as a sword came hurtling for her gut. She jumped out of the way, slashing her with her sword at the same time. She did not cut the woman – it was a feminine cry of pain that she heard – but she _did_ throw her off balance. A swift kick had the woman on the ground, and then Solona's sword took her in the throat.

Solona whirled. Where was he? The man she took her weapon from was finally getting to his feet. But she was unable to get to him, as another was blocking her way.

She nodded. It had been a long while since Solona had seen true combat, but it was coming back to her very well. She met the sword with her own, lunging and parrying, blocking and jabbing, falling into a rhythm. The man was very skilled, but so was Solona, having spent the last ten years perfecting her technique and deadliness. She was not even channeling her magic anymore.

She would have killed everyone in this room by now were she channeling her magic. And that was precisely why, once she had a weapon, she forced herself to fight conventionally. She would not use her magic, her beautiful, Maker-given gift, to kill people. Not anymore. She defeated Loghain, the best general of his age, conventionally. She could take out these opponents.

Pain suddenly lanced through her hip, and she fell to the ground. Sera shouted, and then her opponent was on her. Solona did not panic, however, instead rolling away from the man she had been fighting. Then she bolted to her feet, hand to her hip where someone had sliced into her from behind. It was superficial only. She would be fine. Her opponent looked angry, lunging at her. Solona sidestepped him, held out her foot to trip him, and then followed with her sword in his back.

He died with the tip of her sword somewhere in the vicinity of his kidney.

There were now five bodies on the ground. That just left…

A strangled sound made Solona whip around to see the man whose weapon she held fall to the ground, his neck at an impossible angle. In his place stood a curious elf. She wore a dress the likes of which might be seen worn by a _guest_ of the festivities, and not the servants. Her face was covered by a mask. In fact, the only reason Solona knew her to be an elf were her long, pointed ears.

"I did not expect to meet you here," the woman said, her eyes roving over Soloan's face, flicking frequently back to the top of her head. She had a thick Orlesian accent as she spoke in the common tongue. "Lady Amell. And here I thought you were missing from court these many months."

"I served the Divine. She was missing from court, as well, for many months."

"Yes, but not as many as _you_."

Sera came up beside Solona, handing her sword, now clean, back. Solona traded the elf, then sheathed her rapier. "And you are?"

"Of course. My manners. I am Ambassador Briala."

Solona nodded. "Right. Good work, harassing both imperial armies out in the field. What's your trick?"

"As if I would tell _you_?"

"It was worth a try," Solona said with a shrug.

"You reputation is well-deserved, I see. It should not be surprising that the Hero of the Fifth Blight would clean this room out so quickly. Though, forgive me for thinking the woman who runs the free clinic in Val Royeaux would not be quite so effective at taking lives."

Solona narrowed her eyes. "I am the Hero of the Fifth Blight. I prefer to save lives, but I have no problem defending myself."

"Indeed. I came down here to save or avenge my people, but I see you have beaten me to it. At least, as far as I know… these dead elves are not _your_ handiwork, I trust?"

Solona snorted a laugh. "Right. And I would have a reason to kill innocent, defenseless servants for what reason, precisely?"

"Hardly defenseless, but… your point is taken. You may have arrived with the Grand Duke, but you are hardly doing his dirty work. These men are Tevinter, yes? I knew he was smuggling in Chevaliers, but why kill the servants?"

"Maybe 'e knows they're your spies," Sera suggested, speaking for the first time.

Briala's eyes darted to Sera. "Ah, yes. You are familiar, but not one of mine…"

Sera bristled, but said nothing further.

"Killing servants and bringing in Tevinter spies are desperate acts. He doesn't _seem_ desperate," Solona said.

"Come, Hero. Surely you know his smile is his mask. He is Orlesian!"

"Yes, true. Still…"

Briala examined Solona for a moment before speaking again. "You have the Inquisitor's ear, yes? Tell her that we might make good allies for each other. She is Dalish, but she seems to actually care for those elves from human cities." Here, her eyes landed on Sera before snapping back to Solona. "Unlike many other Dalish I've met. Ask her what she could do with an army of elven spies at her disposal. I have one to offer. We might work nicely together, _non_?"

"Quite the sale pitch, Ambassador," Solona said, smirking.

"I know which way the wind is blowing," Briala said, turning. "I'd bet coin one of you will be part of the peace talks by night's end. And if you happen to lean a little bit our way… it could prove advantageous for us both. Adieu, Hero." She hopped out the open window next to her, and was gone.

"Already _have_ a network of spies, and not just elven, neither," Sera huffed.

Solona shook her head. She hadn't forgotten Sera's outburst from earlier, and had no patience for her sulking now. "You are all right?" she asked.

"Yeah. But you're not. You're bleedin'."

"Shit." Solona took care of the injury, momentarily channeling her powers, but nothing could be done for her cut trousers. Leliana was going to kill her. _Should've made an exception and just rained holy hell on them. She won't say it, but she'll think it._

"Come here, stupid," Sera said, pulling something from her waistband. Upon closer inspection, the girl had a sewing needle.

"Brilliant," Solona breathed.

Sera rolled her eyes and knelt next to the mage, getting to work with a quick patch of her clothes. Being black, the hole and the thread holding it together shouldn't be noticeable unless one knew where to look. And no one would be getting close enough to look.

"So what now?" Sera asked, standing and tucking her supplies away.

Solona sighed. "We tell Leliana that the Venatori are definitely here, which means Celene is _definitely_ in danger."

Sera looked sour, but nodded. That was a relief. At least Solona need not deal with the elf openly questioning her relationship. Giving herself a once-over, Solona removed her soiled white gloves and tucked them inside her tunic before heading back in the direction they had come. The night had only lasted an hour so far, and already it was more exciting than Solona ever wished any night at court to ever be again. She had so much news to make Leliana sour. _Here we go…_

* * *

Bull watched as the man identified as Dorian's father came sliding down the drainpipe. _Must not be all that old, if he's still that spry_ , he thought to himself.

Dorian, for his part, had regained his color, but still looked like he was caught between wanting to run and wanting to lash out with fire. Bull subtly positioned himself just in front of the human so he could protect him. He didn't know why Dorian would look with such poison upon his father, but he knew Dorian was a pariah in Minrathous, and unwelcome at home.

The hooded figure landed, showed that his hands were empty, and then pulled the mask from his face. A dark face was revealed, with details Bull's one eye just couldn't quite make out while still hooded. But his breathing was audible to the qunari, quick and light, like he was recovering from shock. Interesting.

"What- what is this, Father?" Dorian's voice was full of reproach. "Ambush? Kidnapping?" He laughed darkly. " _Warm family reunion?!_ "

"Dorian…"

"Or does it have nothing to do with me? Why are you at the Winter Palace in Orlais with the _Venatori_? Did you _join_ their illustrious ranks?"

"Dorian, there's no need for-"

"Don't!" Dorian took a deep breath. "I can't take any more of your words."

Bull flicked one ear, uncomfortable but not knowing what he should do. Emotions he could deal with, but this father-son crap was entirely out of his realm of experience as a follower of the Qun. He kept his mouth shut, though. He knew enough to know he wouldn't help by excusing himself, or by calling attention to himself in any way. Besides, Dorian was pledged to the Inquisition, and it would be a cold day in hell before Bull abandoned him, even if he _was_ a 'Vint. They were of the same kith now, brothers in arms. It was a damn weird kith, yes, but still.

"Dorian, listen to me for one second!" his father said, his voice a hushed whisper. Dorian pursed his lips but stayed quiet. "There are others about! This is not a discussion for open courtyards! I will answer your questions, but you must follow me."

He turned without another word and began walking. Bull wasn't sure at first if Dorian would follow, but when he did, Bull matched his pace. They kept quiet as they ducked into an empty hallway.

Dorian was speaking as soon as the door was shut. "Father, this is The Iron Bull. We're lovers now, just so you know. I know that will just make you _so_ happy."

Bull almost laughed, but kept it together. From the sneer on the older man's face as he looked up at Bull, it was clear Dorian was just goading his father. And that it was working.

"I don't give a damn about the Venatori, Dorian," he began, his eyes moving back to his son. "I joined when I learned you'd joined the Inquisition, because it was the only way I could think of to get information on your movements."

"Why? So you could try again?"

"Dorian…"

Dorian turned to look at Bull. "As you know, I prefer the company of men. My father disapproves." Bull kept quiet, letting Dorian speak. "Ordinarily, this isn't a problem, but as I am the only child – and only _son_ – of House Pavus, I was expected to marry a nice girl and live a perfectly miserable little life with her and our miserable little children." He turned back to his father. "I refused."

"This does not concern him-"

"It _concerns_ whoever I damn well feel like _concerning_ ," Dorian snapped. "Oh, and did you know Felix is dead, Father? I'm sure you're happy about that, as you correctly deduced that I pined for him. You can't hurt me anymore. Everything I had is lost. So I will ask my question again. _Why are you here_?"

Bull was surprised when the older man's shoulders sagged. "I just want to speak with you, Dorian. To see if you could ever find it in yourself to forgive me."

"Forgive you?! You taught me to _hate_ blood magic! Said it was the product of a weak mind! You held _dissenting opinions_ from the majority in the Magisterium! And then when I did what you did – refused to give in to the status quo – you… you…"

"Doria-"

"You tried to _change_ me, Father!" It started as a shout, but Dorian's voice broke in the middle.

"I only wanted what was best-"

"Bullshit! You didn't want the best for _me_! You wanted the best for _you_! Your _fucking_ legacy! Anything for that!" He took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "If this is truly the reason you joined the Venatori, why you're here, then it was a waste of your fucking time, Father."

Bull had to hand it to the man. He didn't give up. "If I had known I would drive you to the Inquisition…"

"I didn't join the Inquisition to get away from you, Father. I joined because it was _right_. Once… once I had a father who would've known that."

Silence reigned for a long moment before Dorian's father finally broke it, his voice sad, resigned.

"Once I had a son who trusted me, and I betrayed that trust. I will leave you alone. I offer you this, however: the empress is to be assassinated tonight. It will come from one who is family to her."

"What is this? Some sort of parting gift?"

"I got what I needed from the Venatori: you. I will leave, and you and your Inquisitor will defeat the lot of them. Farewell, Dorian. I only hope that, with time, I might mend the rift I caused between us. Please know that you are welcome at home, should ever decide to come visit. Your mother… she misses you terribly."

The man melted into the shadows. Bull just barely heard a slight whisper, then the short bristles of hair on the back of his head stood up in response to magic. Then his ears told him that it was indeed just himself and Dorian in the room.

"I can't believe…"

Bull reached out a hand, resting it on the smaller man's shoulder. "Come on."

"What?"

"Let's go. The sooner we report this information, the sooner we can get so drunk we forget the last hour."

Dorian looked up at him, his eyes large in the dim light. Bull couldn't tell, but he knew those eyes were a blue-grey in the daylight, and he found them captivating when they flashed in his direction. He hadn't spent a lot of time with Dorian over the winter, but there was something about him… Bull remembered all the details he had noticed about the man: the way his tunic and trousers hugged his thin frame, his impeccable mustache, the way his smile didn't always reach his eyes. He supposed he knew what it was about him now. _Always did like 'em a little tortured. Always makes 'em interesting. But damn, his dad tried to burn a love of tits into him or something? That's beyond fucked up._

 _Not the tits, though. Those are fantastic._

Dorian dissipated the tension in the air between them when his lips curved into a grin. "I don't know that you've ever had a _better_ idea, Bull."

The Iron Bull's grin mirrored Dorian's. "Good. Let's go."

* * *

 _A/N: So many changes here! Dorian meets his father here, Solona is the one who meets Briala, and of course the change to Josephine in the last chapter. It didn't make much sense to me to have everyone traveling all over everywhere in order to take care of their business. I figured Josephine would be efficient and take care of her family business in Orlais while she was already there, rather than take many weeks away from the Inquisition to travel to Val Royeaux just for this one meeting. With Dorian, it just occurred to me that his father should be at the winter palace with the Venatori. The Venatori would be the only way he could save face in the Magisterium and still get information on the Inquisition, maybe even get close to them and his son. With Solona, well... I miss Solona. And it made more sense to me than Zanneth running around, obviously missing from Cass and Leliana's sides. Everyone will be clamoring to look at her, the Dalish, white-haired, glowing oddity. Solona has the benefit of not being quite so_ _ **new**_ _to court._

 _Anyway, I hope you like it!_


	11. The Assassin Revealed

_A/N: Hello, my lovelies! I apologize for the wait. My muse has been on overdrive lately, but it's not always for fanfiction. I've written a short story for a compilation project and picked back up on two different book ideas I've been sitting on for some time now. In between all that, I've gamed some, applied and interviewed for a few jobs, and generally tried to keep at least somewhat physically active._

 _So, basically, I'm sorry, but grateful for an active muse._

 _If any of you are interested, I've posted a lot of stuff on the blog Raven Sinead and I keep (ravenandgrace. blogspot. com). I feel like I've been hogging it lately, but Raven doesn't seem to mind. So... oh well!_

 _Without further ado, here is more Forged Through Fade and Flame!_

* * *

"Inquisitor Lavellan."

Zanneth smiled politely, bowing as she'd been shown. _My lips might be stuck in a permanent, vague smile by the end of this night_ , she thought to herself. "Grand Duchess," she said in greeting as she straightened from her bow. Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons smiled in return.

"I see you remember our brief meeting not an hour ago." Her eyes, not quite hidden behind her mask, moved first to Leliana before alighting on Cassandra. "Seeker Pentaghast. It is good to see you again."

"Likewise, your Grace," Cassandra said, performing a quick, straight-backed bow at Zanneth's right shoulder.

"Was there something I can do for you?" Zanneth asked.

"I wished to welcome you to my party, Inquisitor," Florianne said, gesturing oddly with her hands. Zanneth had seen several nobles in the ballroom gesturing in a similar manner, and had decided it meant nothing more than some people's tendency to gesture while they spoke. Zanneth had no such tendency, but she'd noticed that Josephine and Revka both did. Perhaps the habit was picked up here, at court?

"It is good to see a Chantry presence here, with the Divine gone. Maker take her," Florianne continued, her eyes flashing again to Leliana.

Zanneth's heart kicked at mention of Leliana, but she kept the panic from her expression. _Perhaps she recognizes Leliana?_ "Yes, well. I have found it prudent to always have someone near for conference when needed," Zanneth said, hoping she wasn't giving anything away she didn't intend to with her words or her tone.

"No doubt it puts some minds – and flapping lips – at ease, as you are Dalish and the Herald of Andraste, both" Florianne said, nodding. Her eyes then left Leliana, and did not venture back again. Zanneth heaved an inward sigh of relief. Leliana had been correct. She was virtually invisible in her role as religious aide to the Herald.

Instead, the Grand Duchess's gaze moved back to Cassandra. "Rumor has it that you are involved with the Right Hand of the Divine," she said, her eyes flashing.

"It is not a rumor," Cassandra said. Zanneth could not see her, of course, but the tone of her voice was clipped, the words nearly bitten off. Zanneth couldn't blame her. She didn't like being the subject of talk, either.

"I see. A smart tactic, Seeker. Do not advertise it, but do not deny it. It robs the information of its power against you, and you have every excuse to stay at the Herald's side, both as her lover and as a religious advisor." Florianne's gaze settled on Zanneth. She noted that her eyes lingered on the elf's severed right ear for several seconds. "You have an intelligent observer of the Game with you, Inquisitor, even if she does not herself machinate." Zanneth couldn't help but think that the Grand Duchess was actually insulting her, rather than complimenting Cassandra.

"Was there some point to this line of questioning, your Grace?" Cassandra said. Perhaps no one else would hear it, but Zanneth could detect just a _touch_ of exasperation in her lover's tone.

"Yes, in fact. I wished to ask a favor of you, Lady Pentaghast."

Again, Zanneth could detect a hint of frustration in her lover's bearing. Cassandra hated being addressed as Lady _anything_. She was a Seeker of Truth and the Right Hand of the two previous Divines. Her noble title was, quite possibly, the thing that mattered least of all to the woman. And she delighted that Zanneth, too, had no concern for it, coming from a world without nobility as she did.

"I hoped to ask for just a moment of the Inquisitor's time, and wished to assure any paramour of my intentions should I do so."

" _Ask her to dance_." The voice, barely even a whisper, was Leliana's. She was standing at Zanneth's left shoulder, closest to her still-intact left ear. Only the elf would have heard the Left Hand's instruction. Zanneth nodded, both in response to Leliana and to the Grand Duchess.

"I would be delighted. Shall we dance while we speak, your Grace?" Zanneth said, stepping away from Cassandra and Leliana. She knew Cassandra would not like Zanneth being away from her side, but there was nothing for it. They had already agreed earlier that this was the best way to try to get Florianne to speak candidly – while she thought no one was watching, and as she spoke with the Dalish Inquisitor. They were essentially using Zanneth and her perceived inexperience and ineptitude at the Game as bait.

Florianne accepted, taking Zanneth's proffered elbow. She started speaking the moment they were out of Cassandra's earshot. "I believe that tonight you and I are both concerned with a certain… person. Hence wishing to speak privately."

Zanneth turned, nodding her acknowledgment as she eyed the dance floor. "I am afraid I only know a simple dance, your Grace," she said, opting for honesty and hoping it came off as charming. Revka had explained how it might work, as she herself was from Ferelden with a lowborn accent, and often thought of as quaint and rustic by the Orlesian court. She had said it worked in her favor, even if it was insulting to be thought of as so simple.

"It is quite all right, Inquisitor." She placed her hand on Zanneth's shoulder, and the elf was suddenly _very_ aware of how the Grand Duchess towered over her. The woman, in her heeled shoes, was taller than Cassandra. "I am impressed you know any at all, coming from the Dalish as you do."

Zanneth nodded, though she was sure the comment could be considered an insult. She was far too preoccupied with remembering the steps of this dance, however. She took a deep breath, remembered at the last moment to smile, and pushed herself and Florianne out onto the edge of the dance floor in a quick foxtrot.

After a few seconds, the Grand Duchess was speaking again. "I hear your clan frequents the Free Marches. How much do you know of our little war?"

Zanneth nearly tripped. She had not practiced dancing _and_ negotiating the Orlesian nobility, and until this moment had not realized how taxing it would be for her poor hunter's mind. "Why… don't you tell me what you think I should know?" she suggested, hoping her brief hesitation did not spell disaster for everything. She still wasn't sure _how_ saying the wrong thing would put them all in danger, but she had come to trust Leliana's, Revka's, and Josephine's judgment in the last few months. And Cassandra agreed, as much as she disapproved of the Game. Zanneth accepted it as yet another thing that there was simply no room for in her world out in the woods.

Her guiding rule for this whole experience of the Winter Palace was to answer a question with another question. It kept people talking, and with Florianne, that was precisely what they wanted. It also kept Zanneth talking as little as possible.

The Grand Duchess's expression was _almost_ a smirk behind her mask as she explained, albeit briefly, the situation with her brother and her cousin. "It took great efforts on my part to arrange tonight's negotiations," she said once she was through. "Yet one party would use this occasion for blackest treason. The security of the empire is at stake. Neither one of us wishes to see it fall."

"Do we both want that?" Zanneth nearly bit her tongue. It just slipped out. She had no idea who to trust and who not to. The joke would be well appreciated by Varric, and probably also Solona and Bull, but that did not mean it was a wise thing to say.

Luckily, Florianne seemed to take it in stride as she completed a simple turn. "I hope we are of one mind on this."

Zanneth narrowed her eyes the slightest bit. Suddenly she could see it. This… was a verbal sparring match. They were both feinting, looking for an opening. Looking for a _tell_ , for a pattern in the other, looking for the way the other's favor leaned. Or, at least, that was what Florianne was doing. And the Inquisitor needed to do it, as well. Could she trust the Grand Duchess? Was she one of their enemies? There was no way to find out except to try to prod, just enough to make her slip.

"In times like these, it is difficult to tell friend from foe. Is it not, Grand Duchess?" It was true. Zanneth was literally asking is she could trust the woman, merely wording it a little differently.

"Indeed. I know only that you arrived as a guest of my brother, and that your agents are everywhere in the palace. You are a curiosity to many, Inquisitor. And a matter of concern to some."

Zanneth sent the Grand Duchess into another quick turn as they moved about the dance floor. This was a better workout than sparring, in a way. Less taxing to her arms, much more taxing for her mind. "And which am I to you?" she asked after a moment. They were skirting an open, honest conversation, but not quite actually landing upon one. Much how one did with a sword in the sparring ring. _Unless you're Cassandra or Bull. Then you just barrel through everyone head-on and dominate the ring with your strength and speed_.

"A little of both, perhaps. The potential of your Inquisition to effect change places you in a rare place of power, as a Dalish elf. You come to us with a perspective no one can predict, not even that harlot who used to bed my cousin. This evening is of great importance to the empire, Inquisitor. I wonder what role you will play in it. Do you even yet know who is friend and who is foe? Who in the court can be trusted?"

 _I just asked her that question. She evaded. That means I should, as well._ "Do any of us?"

Florianne was quiet for an extended moment of dancing. Her manner was… heavy, with what, Zanneth did not know. But then she seemed to come to a decision, and as the music swelled with its finale, she said, "It cannot have escaped your notice that certain parties participate in _dangerous_ machinations, Inquisitor."

Zanneth kept her quip to herself this time. _I thought dangerous machinations were the national pastime in Orlais._

"You have little time," the Grand Duchess continued. "The attack will come soon." She was directly on the line now, no longer skirting close and then backing away. "You must stop Gaspard before he strikes. In the Royal Wing garden you will find the captain of my brother's mercenaries. He knows all Gaspard's secrets. I'm sure you can persuade him to be forthcoming."

Zanneth, upon hearing the telling chords that signaled the end of the piece of music, dipped Florianne in the simple flourish she'd practiced on the road to Halamshiral each night. "I suppose we'll see what the night has in store."

She escorted the Grand Duchess back to the side of the dance floor, and immediately sought out her companions.

* * *

Josephine was curious as to whom everyone was watching on the dance floor, so she took the stairs to get a vantage from on high. _The Herald!_ she thought, shocked to see the elven woman sweeping the Grand Duchess through the dance floor like she owned it. She was all lithe grace and cat-like reflexes, keeping from running into anyone else only by inches at most. More than one lady's skirt was left ruffled in the Inquisitor's breeze.

Josephine made sure to be there when Zanneth exited the floor.

"You will be the talk of the court for _months_!" she exclaimed in a hushed voice, taking Zanneth's elbow so she might speak with her. She needed to check in and see what had happened, what they knew, and confer with Leliana if she could. "We should take you dancing more often, Inquisitor." Her beaming smile was, for once, genuine. Her altercation from earlier was nearly forgotten in her delight at seeing the Inquisitor succeed on the dance floor.

"Just don't make me dance with Corypheus," the elf quipped. Josephine almost jumped in shock. While Zanneth had opened up more since they came to Skyhold, her time at Haven had left everyone with the impression that she was incredibly serious, an impression supported by her obviously getting along so well with Cassandra. Every single time she told some jape or laughed at Sera's antics, Josephine was surprised. She almost couldn't parse what she was seeing when the Inquisitor helped Sera and Solona with that snowball fight mere weeks into their stay at the mountain castle.

"Would that we could outmaneuver him and skip all the bloodshed, though, yes?" Josephine said.

"I suppose. I don't like killing people. But don't a lot of people get killed in this Game? At least in war, we all have some idea why the other people are trying to kill us."

A splash of blood, of the brightest red, flashed across Josephine's mind. She had _almost_ forgotten… "This is… true." She eyed Zanneth from the side as they meandered through the crowd. "I hope you have good news. It appears the peace talks are crumbling. As we suspected they would."

"The Grand Duchess warns that her brother is up to something. It took her until the very end of the dance to say as much. I do not know if that means I should trust her because she was out of time, or if that was her last attempt to get me to believe a lie."

"Either option is bleak. It _does_ mean the attack will happen tonight, however."

"How do you know?"

Josephine smiled and waved to an acquaintance of hers. "Either she is right, and Gaspard is planning something, or _she_ is planning something and trying to throw you off her scent. I would suggest you investigate. I can make excuses for your absence."

"She did mention something about the Grand Duke's mercenary captain. Perhaps I should seek him out and see what he has to say?"

"That is good, yes. Take Cassandra with you. She would kill me if I sent you out on your own." Her eyes flashed as she smiled at the Inquisitor. "Two paramours sneaking off together is possibly the most boring thing that could happen at the court. The perfect excuse for your absence, no?"

As Josephine expected, Zanneth's pale face flushed with color, but she said nothing, merely nodding. They continued walking together until they found Leliana and Cassandra, standing in a circle with Bull, Dorian, and Solona. All their manners were easy and calm, even jovial, but Josephine knew they spoke of important things. Leliana looked out of place, but as she was glued to Cassandra and Zanneth's side for the evening, it shouldn't be too suspicious. They, all three of them, were religious figures to some degree. Leliana's _true_ identity within the Chantry was simply masked.

They joined the group with almost no to-do, and Josephine noticed Sera served them all wine. _Clever little thing_. She accepted her wine, and began listening to what was being reported.

* * *

Leliana's mind reeled at all that had been revealed. Venatori agents in the servant's wing. Dorian's _father_ mixed up with the Venatori, then disappearing. Briala offering her services, and her network of Orlesian spies. And now Zanneth made it clear that Florianne de Chalons was up to… _something_. So much they could use. But _how_ , precisely? She hadn't decided just yet. It all hinged on whether it was Florianne or Gaspard who was planning something. They had almost _too much_ evidence on Gaspard, but absolutely zero on Florianne. It was suspicious. Gaspard was not that stupid, and Florianne was not that innocent.

"You should investigate this report of Gaspard's captain," Leliana murmured, making sure she looked at no one in particular. She couldn't look like she was too involved in the conversation, as a mere Chantry sister. "A mercenary captain won't lie for his master the way a pledged soldier will. Offer him money, and he'll spill any secrets there are to spill."

"Lady Montilyet suggested as much," Zanneth said.

"How will we sneak her away?" Cassandra asked.

"Oh, Cassandra," Leliana cooed, finding the Seeker's expression turned sour at her tone. "Surely you can find some reason to sneak off with your _lover_? Preferably for all to see?"

Solona's grin was wicked, and Dorian and Bull both let out a guffaw, their grinning lips pulling open with their mouths. Cassandra's lips were pursed. It would be a while before she forgave Leliana that comment. But it was just too good to pass up.

"We will go. Together," Zanneth said, wrenching the conversation back to business. "Should anyone else come along? Perhaps meet us?"

Sera said something, though Leliana did not catch it. She watched as the elf handed more wine to Zanneth before her eyes flicked to Dorian.

"I'll go, too," he said, smiling and taking a sip of his wine. "You'd think they would serve fancier wine at this thing. This is the _Empress's_ party, isn't it?"

Leliana nearly rolled her eyes. She still did not like the man, but she could not let that dislike show now. She trusted his intentions, she trusted that he would protect the Herald as best he was able, and even trusted that he had earned his forgiveness from Solona. But she would never be able to forgive him for taking Solona away from her, for nearly getting her killed. She just… couldn't bring herself to be that _good_. Her heart held too much ice for that. Perhaps in the days of the Blight, but no longer.

As she watched the others participate in more inane conversation, and as Zanneth and Cassandra wandered off together, Leliana couldn't help but notice Solona's expression was… strained. Her eyes followed Sera closely as the elf left, presumably to go meet Zanneth and Cassandra. The set to Solona's shoulders was also strained. Her eyes flicked to Leliana far more than they should. Someone might notice. But… what would worry her lover so much?

Leliana decided to take a risk and lifted a single hand. { _Calm_ ,} she spelled out. Something was obviously bothering the arcane warrior, but she needed to know that someone might notice. The barest nod was her answer, and then Solona visibly relaxed, and her smile came more easily.

 _That's right, my love. Whatever is bothering you, we will discuss it as soon as is possible. We must get through this night first, however._ Leliana took a deep breath, refocusing her mind on all the information that had been gathered.

* * *

Zanneth massaged her temples. The elven servant she just saved ran off with the promise of speaking against Briala should they need her to. Her hands trembled. She looked out the window, remembering the feeling of her feet making contact with the ridiculously-dressed assassin, how the woman's breasts had cushioned her foot, how she had been totally silent as she was pushed through the window, how the _thud_ of her body below had been both barely audible and _deafening_.

The tremor moved through her whole body now, and Zanneth could not stop it. "Creators, what am I doing?" she whispered, moving to crouch by the wall.

"Inky?" Sera said from one side, while Cassandra's presence was clear on her other side. It was stifling. She needed…

She pushed herself to her feet, her hands still trembling. The Anchor shone brightly, the pain a low, dull throb. She removed her gloves for fear the mark would burn right through it. "I need… I need to be alone for a moment," she said, walking into the next room. She could almost feel Cassandra's concern, as well as being wounded by Zanneth shrugging her off as she had. But Zanneth didn't need her concern right now. She just…

She wanted out. She wanted away. She had danced with the duchess and then come through these halls to kill and kill and there was just no point that she could see to pretending like this. It was all so…

"Really? Walking away? It's going to take a lot to make _that_ up to her." It was Dorian. He'd followed her in here after she said she needed to be alone.

"What do you want from me, Dorian?"

"It just looked like you needed to be watched. So you don't, I don't know, run away or something equally dramatic."

Zanneth looked out a window. "It's starting to sound like a good idea."

"I know. Hence my presence."

Zanneth stared for a moment before turning around. The tremors had stopped, but the mark was still glowing brightly, painless now but lighting up the whole dark room. Seeing Dorian's face under the light reminded her of Redcliffe, and everything that had happened there. It was the stuff of her nightmares. In the beginning, she would often see Cassandra's limp body flying through the air, and she would awaken sweaty and unable to get enough air, but with Cassandra whole and hale next to her. It had calmed over the winter, but had flared back to life at night on the road to Halamshiral.

She did not like being reminded of it now. "This is all so…"

"Stupid? Pointless? I know. And they can't even serve good wine!"

Zanneth smiled, but shook her head, turning away again. She couldn't look at his face. She chose to stare at the sky out the window instead. "What is the point of all this? Briala is machinating, Gaspard is machinating, and Florianne probably is, as well. We _know_ the empress is. We found her…"

"A naked man with an erection tied to her bed? Yes. Yes, we did. A fine specimen, too. The empress has good taste. I imagine if things go her way this evening, that man will have quite a welcome when she gets back to him. His career with Gaspard is over either way."

Again, Zanneth smiled, but didn't turn around. "I'm serious, Dorian! It all seems so pointless. How are we here to stop Corypheus?"

"They do seem much more enmired in their own problems than whatever's going on in the rest of the world, don't they?" He came up next to her, examining the stars alongside the Herald. "The thing is, Orlais _is_ important. You remember Redcliffe, yes? They told us what happened. The empress was assassinated, and all of Orlais fell into chaos. Then an army of demons swept through and ruined everyone's day. We don't yet have a lead on the demon army, but the assassination? That's what we're here to stop. They're all maneuvering and posturing their little heads off, but your job is to deduce who the assassin is and _stop them_. The rest of it will happen whether or not you think it should, whether or not you're even here. The assassin is what you're here to change."

" _I'm_ here to ruin _Corypheus's_ day?" Zanneth said, smirking.

Dorian laughed. "Yes! For once! Might as well show him what it feels like, yes?"

"I don't know," Zanneth said, lifting her glowing left hand. "I've been led to believe that I ruined his day pretty well when I obtained the Anchor."

"True. Too bad it ruined _your_ day, as well." He put his hand on her shoulder, and Zanneth finally looked up to his face once more. "Come along. Let's go ruin his day. Then you can eat, sleep, _fuck_ , and generally _not_ have a ruined day." He grinned at her squawk of displeasure. She felt her face flush furiously all the way up to the tip of her remaining ear. "Ha ha! You are so precious! Come on. You have a lover you slighted. You should apologize, thrust your tongue down her throat, and then we should get moving."

Still blushing furiously, Zanneth allowed Dorian to usher her into the next room, where she immediately went into Cassandra's embrace, whispered her apology, and basked in the stalwart comfort her lover provided. They would speak later, but for now, this seemed to be enough for the both of them.

* * *

Cassandra watched as Sera knelt by the door. They could hear a man yelling about "painted Orlesians" on the other side with a Fereldan accent, and Cassandra couldn't blame him. To the more robust Fereldan people, Orlesian nobles were indeed painted, dressed up dolls, with the outward intelligence of one, as well.

The fact that the door to the garden was locked made the Seeker uneasy. They all knew the risk that they were walking into a trap, that Florianne had planned something and was pushing a little too hard to make it seem that it was her _brother_ who was a traitor – which, _of course_ he was a traitor, he started this damned civil war. Cassandra appreciated his military mind, and thought that, if he had come about this differently, he would make a good emperor. But his willingness to continue his blasted war even with the Chantry, Seekers, templars, and Circles all in open conflict rather soured his appeal in the Right Hand's eyes. Given all the choices available, though… perhaps he was still the best ally for the Inquisition?

The locked door on top of all the other posturing… it should make her feel _better_ , because that meant they weren't expected. But _why_ would the man be behind a locked door, yelling about Orlesians? Was he trapped? Why couldn't he simply _let himself back out_ of the garden?

"I'm not sure about this," Cassandra finally said, eyeing everyone.

"Neither am I. It stinks like day-old fish," Dorian said. "But it's also likely to provide some answers."

"Pr'vided we _survive_ it," Sera snarked. Then she stood up. "Door's unlocked. After you, Inky."

Cassandra stepped forward, reaching for the doorknob and her rapier at the same time. "I will go first."

"No." Zanneth's hand alighted on top of hers. "I'm the leader, Cassandra. I won't ask any of you to go somewhere I wouldn't also go." Cassandra's heart swelled, but she merely nodded. She was _glad_ that they were lovers and Zanneth still felt she could step into a command role when it was required. Their relationship could _not_ be allowed to get in the way of the Inquisition. They hadn't really discussed how to do that yet, but they seemed to be doing okay so far.

 _I should speak more with Leliana about this. How did they manage during and after the Blight? This is only our first of likely many Inquisition-related missions since becoming lovers. I let duty get between myself and Galyan. I… I do not wish to do that with Zanneth. There must be a_ _ **balance**_ _._

The door opened to bright green light. Cassandra reached for her sword, cursing that it was only a rapier and not her usual longswords. Arrayed around them were at least twenty archers, but even more worrying was the dormant rift floating in the courtyard. How did they keep it from drifting away? How did they keep it dormant? How had _no one_ noticed its presence in the _Winter Palace_?

"Inquisitor! What a pleasure. I wasn't certain you'd attend." Cassandra's eyes fell on the Grand Duchess de Chalons, standing upon a balcony overlooking this small courtyard. "You're such a challenge to read. I had no idea if you'd taken my bait."

Cassandra saw red. The protective impulse within her reared an _ugly_ head, and she had to take several deep breaths to keep from flinging her sword at Florianne and separating her head from her body. She targeted Zanneth because she was an elf, because she was inexperienced at the Game, because she was unfamiliar with politics. She saw Zanneth as a target, as someone _stupid_ and immature, child-like, and it _infuriated_ Cassandra that the Grand Duchess could reduce this person to a _thing_ like that. The Seeker could kill her and it would not be enough to satisfy the beast that was her anger in that moment.

To her surprise, Zanneth remained calm, walking several paces out into the courtyard and placing herself between Cassandra and their adversaries. Her sword remained at her side. She met Cassandra's eyes briefly and smiled, and that more than anything else calmed Cassandra's blood. Florianne was wrong, and she would pay dearly for underestimating this amazing creature.

"I'm afraid it's rather a bad time for another dance, your Grace," the elf called out. Sera and Dorian both sniggered from behind Cassandra.

The Grand Duchess smiled, but it looked more like a grimace. The comment had wormed its way beneath her skin. _Good. Bitch._

"It was kind of you to walk into this trap so willingly. I was so tired of your Inquisition's meddling. The Elder One insisted that the empress die tonight, and I do not wish to disappoint him. Magister Alexius's failure made it abundantly clear what happens when we disappoint our master. And I admit I will relish the look on Gaspard's face when he realizes I've outplayed him. He always was a sore loser."

Zanneth moved a little closer to the Grand Duchess. Cassandra noticed that her hand veritably _pulsed_ with light. It likely hurt the elf quite a lot. But Zanneth did not let on. _What is she trying to do?_

"And why help him? What do you get from it?"

Florianne's eyes flashed, reflecting the green light of the dormant rift as she answered. "My brother wants an empire. He thinks _small_. When Corypheus ascends to godhood, he will save me! He will rule from the Black City, and I will rule all Thedas in his name!" She leaned forward, her voice dropping an octave. "In their darkest dreams, no one imagines _I_ would assassinate Celene _myself_. Kill her!" She straightened, looking to the Venatori thug to her left. "Bring me the marked hand as proof!"

Zanneth sprang to life just as the first arrow was released. She jumped forward, under the line of the arrows, rolling on the ground before popping to her feet with her hand raised. Cassandra had to dive out of the way to avoid the arrows sent their way. A grunt from Dorian told her he was not fast enough, but also that he was not seriously hurt. Likely just grazed. She lifted her head from the ground to see the rift explode open, and a veritable flood of demons poor forth.

Zanneth was thrown from her feet. Cassandra scrambled to her side. "Are you all right!" she yelled. The elf nodded, sprang to her feet, and reached down to help Cassandra up. Once standing, the Seeker looked around. Every single Venatori agent was busy dealing with a demon, leaving Cassandra and her companions unmolested.

"Brilliant," she breathed. "Wait until they are dead before closing the rift."

"I'll need you to keep the demons off me once I do so," the elf said, nodding. "Dorian! Sera!" She waved the others toward her.

Sera stopped on her way, darting beneath a flaming demon to grab a fallen Venatori archer's weapon. Then she was at Cassandra's side. "Gonna wait 'til the demons take care of th' problem for ya, Inky? Smart."

"It won't be long now," Dorian said, his eyes scanning the courtyard as he moved his hand away from his arm. "Another injury or two and they'll come for us." As Cassandra had suspected, the mage bore only a torn sleeve, a cut underneath that was not at all serious.

Cassandra pulled her sword. "Let them come," she said, eyes narrowed as she turned her back to Zanneth. They formed a rough circle around the Herald. "Ready?" she said.

"Yes," Zanneth replied.

Cassandra raised her sword in front of her. "Now."

The word was barely out of Cassandra's mouth before a cacophony sounded behind her. She recognized it as the sound the Anchor made when it made contact with a rift. She had no time to ruminate on it, however, as every single demon's attention was taken by Zanneth closing the source of their energy in this world.

She hefted her sword. Fighting with a rapier, while not unfamiliar to her, was not suited to her size and strength. It required finesse, like peeling an onion instead of slicing it in half. Cassandra could be patient while fighting a skilled opponent, but her favored tactic was to move before her foe knew what she was capable of. As those she faced in battle were usually larger men who underestimated the female Seeker, this tactic worked well for her. It also worked well against demons and abominations, as well. Finesse and patience against a demon was… not her strong-suit.

But she would prevail. She must. It was the only option to get out and to the ballroom again before the duchess struck against the empress.

A flaming hand lashed out against Cassandra, and she took the blow with her sword. She only needed to hold out a few more seconds. Which was good, as her sword was left red-hot by the demon's blow. A few more like that, and it would brittle the steel, leaving it useless. _We should have asked that these weapons be enchanted to withstand this sort of battle_ , she thought absently. She lashed out against the creature, taking it where its throat should be. It shrieked and withered away, only to be replaced by a rag-covered monstrosity with only the vaguest identifiable outline. Mostly, it was a rag-covered lump.

But it had hands, and they had nails that could skewer Cassandra's throat and bleed her out in seconds. The Seeker ducked out of the way of those hands, thrusting upward with her rapier. She felt the demon's nails cut through the skin of her shoulder, and the resulting sting as they sank _deep_ , but ignored it, stepping forward and driving the sword further before twisting savagely, completing her kill.

Another arm rose above her, but it never connected. Green, healing light burst forth, and then the demon dissolved into thin air. She stood up tall, looking around the courtyard. A few Venatori moved and moaned from the ground, but even as she watched, Zanneth sprang forward and gutted the last man standing with her own rapier. Then she took his bow and quiver. Their ruse was over at this point, so Cassandra made no move to correct the elf. Let her have the more familiar weapon. Maker knew Cassandra wished for a proper sword, and perhaps even a shield.

"Oy! Got a live one 'ere!" Sera shouted. "All tied up and lookin' scared!" Cassandra moved over to the girl's side, kneeling in front of the man.

"Are you Gaspard's mercenary captain?"

He nodded frantically. "I knew Gaspard was a bastard, but I didn't think he'd feed me to fucking horrors and demons over a damned _bill_!"

"Gaspard sent you out here?" Cassandra made no move to untie him. She was taking no chances.

"Well, his sister. But it had to come from him, didn't it? All that garbage she was spewing didn't mean anything. Some lord and gods? Preposterous. Gaspard has to be the mastermind."

"I'm sorry. Wait. You think this is over Gaspard not _paying_ you?" Dorian scoffed down at the man. "How idiotic _are_ you, man?"

The captain scowled up at Dorian. "The duke wanted to move on the palace tonight, but he didn't have enough fancy _chevaliers_." He said the last with a hefty amount of disdain. "So he hired my men, offered us triple the normal rate to get us to come all the way to Orlais. Stinking, poncy cheesemongers.

"Inquisition could use good mercenaries who c'n see through rich tits," Sera said.

Cassandra scowled, but nodded, ignoring Sera's more colorful language. A winter spent with hers and Solona's shenanigans had taught her to not react or it would just get worse. "True. And I am convinced you have no ulterior motive." She pulled her sword and cut his bindings.

"Who _are_ you?" he asked, rubbing his wrists once he'd stood up.

Zanneth finally moved forward. "I'm Inquisitor Lavellan. I lead the Inquisition. We can pay you well, and you won't be asked to attack the Winter Palace. Not in secret, at any rate."

"The Inquisitor! I thought the duchess just had her head up her arse! Yes, of course! Anything's better than this kind of bullshit, anyway!" He took her hand, shaking.

"Will you testify as to what happened out here, should we need it?" Dorian asked.

"You want me to talk to the empress, or the court, or sing a blasted song in the _Chantry_ , I'll do it," the captain replied, nodding. He was a simple man. They could use a whole heap _more_ simple in their ranks.

"Find our commander inside," Cassandra said. "He is blonde, with a scar on his upper lip, and he is missing his left forearm. He is wearing the same uniform as us."

"Sounds hard to miss," the man said with a nod, then disappeared through the door they'd used to get into the courtyard.

Cassandra made no move to stop Dorian as he silently sidled up beside her, murmuring under his breath to heal the cuts on her shoulder as he held the flesh together with his hands. When he was through, she thanked him quietly. Then she turned to Zanneth.

"Leliana should vet him and his lieutenants thoroughly," she said.

"She will. I trust her," Zanneth replied, coming close.

"Wha' do we do about these?" Sera asked, gesturing to the semi-conscious injured Venatori agents.

Dorian incanted briefly, and then heads began to fall. Within seconds, the agents were unconscious to a man. "There. They'll sleep. Let the palace guards sort them out. They're no threat to us anymore, and this way they can face the empire's justice."

"Thank you, Dorian." Zanneth reached out and took Cassandra's hand briefly, then turned and marched to the door. "Come on. We have an assassination to stop."

Heart pounding, Cassandra ran after her lover. When this was over, she was going to lock them in their room and not come out for at _least_ a day.


	12. The Empress's Fate Decided

Zanneth ran through the hallway, then through the door at the end. On the other side, in the darkness, waited Josephine, Cullen, Revka, and Leliana. At the far side of the hallway, at the turn that would take her out into the ballroom, stood Solona and Bull, presumably stationed there to keep anyone else out.

"Thank the Maker you're back!" Cullen said. "The empress will begin her speech soon. We need to discuss what we're going to do."

"Did you learn anything new?" Revka asked.

"The Grand Duchess is the assassin. I must get out there so I can stop her!"

"Florianne?" Leliana pursed her lips. "So I _was_ right. Serves me right for not trusting my instincts. Offering up her own brother is more cutthroat than I would have guessed, though."

"It is worse," Cassandra said. "She is working with Corypheus _directly_. She hopes to rule the world while he is in the Black City."

"Of course. The most power a mere mortal could hope to have." Leliana scowled. "Disgusting."

"We must warn the empress!" Zanneth did not understand why they kept her here; why they talked while they lost precious time.

"Warning her too early will do no good," Josephine said, holding a hand out to keep Zanneth from running past her. "These talks must succeed, and if they are halted, _everyone_ must know that it is for treason. Otherwise… the duchess merely flees, with no real consequences."

"Then perhaps she should die," Leliana said, her tone flat.

That got Zanneth's attention, and she stopped trying to get past them all. "What?"

"I have been thinking how we can best use all we have learned to our advantage. Briala, Gaspard, Celene." Leliana narrowed her eyes as she continued. "Someone must emerge victorious in order for the empire to remain strong – which is what we need."

"She's right," Cullen said. "Strong doesn't necessarily mean Celene. I would prefer the more military-minded Gaspard."

"But we have no way to control him directly," Revka said. "Celene we could influence, especially if we are her saviors!"

"But in this war, do we want a peacemaker and Game player? Or do we want a general?" Cullen said, addressing his wife. "I would want a general as our ally."

"Especially a general I can _control_ ," Leliana said.

"How?" This was Josephine.

"Briala."

Zanneth narrowed her eyes. "Elaborate." She had not missed how Leliana had said "I" and not "we." It made her more than a little uncomfortable.

"We found dirt on him, yes? His mercenary captain, plus the letters Solona and Sera found. Knowing that he was planning to move on the palace during talks for peace? Treason."

Zanneth was unconvinced. "And what about the empress? Why must we let her die? Does not that give the duchess what she wants? And therefore Corypheus?"

"Not if we control it. Celene's death is not what Corypheus is after, so much as the chaos that would ensure. That won't happen if we are here for the aftermath and ensure the duchess, too, meets her end. Celene's death would make the transition easier, and also necessary," the spymaster said.

Zanneth narrowed her eyes. "No."

"What?"

"We can work to make Gaspard the emperor if we decide that's best, but I will _not_ participate in this mindless death toll."

Leliana was _angry_. "We are your advisors. You must listen to us!"

Zanneth's temper, slow to rise, flared to life now. "I _must_ do nothing you say! You chose me as your leader. You advise, I listen, and then _I make decisions_. _You_ do not." She shoved past everyone. Bull and Solona both let her pass without incident. She heard running footsteps behind her, but paid them no mind. She must get out and to the empress in time. She _must_.

"Let all gathered attend!" That was the crier's voice. Zanneth burst out into the ballroom, almost bowling over a nameless noble with her speed. "Her Imperial Majesty will address the court!"

"Lords and Ladies!" the empress began.

 _Creators, I'm too late!_ Zanneth could not maneuver around everyone fast enough. Florianne was being called forward now. Zanneth had stopped listening to the empress's speech almost as soon as it had begun. People were in her way. What would she do?

"I got you, Boss," Bull said. Then his huge hands were on her waist. Her feet left the ground, and a moment later, he had her seated literally on top of one of his massive horns. "Hurry up and shoot her! I'm strong, but I can't keep you up there forever!"

Heart hammering, Zanneth drew the bow she'd taken from the Venatori, notched an arrow, and took aim. There was the Grand Duchess, coming to Celene's side, her hand at the small of her back.

"Stand aside!" Zanneth shouted, and released her arrow. Gasps went up all around, but she paid them no mind. She only had eyes and ears for her arrow. She watched as time seemed to slow and stretch. Then, suddenly, it was embedded in Florianne's chest, between and just above her two porcelain breasts.

Time sped back up. Bull put Zanneth back on her feet, running forward and parting the sea of people for her. They made it up to the steps in record time. Florianne was already dead, a razor-sharp stiletto grasped in one hand. A _clean_ stiletto. Zanneth had made it in time. The empress's blood did not grace the blade's edge.

"You saved me!" A hand gripped her arm, vice-like in its strength. "You have saved the empire!" Zanneth turned to find the empress holding tight to her, eyes wild behind her mask. "I expected duplicity from Gaspard, but Florianne?!"

Zanneth smiled. "Yes. You're not the only one surprised by this evening's turn of events."

The next few minutes were a blur. Cassandra reached her side and pulled her into an embrace, while Revka and Josephine wrangled the empress. Leliana stood silently by, watching it all, a small frown on her face whenever her eyes landed upon the Inquisitor. Gaspard stood by as well, under Bull and Solona's watchful gaze, eyeing the corpse of his sister. And Briala somehow managed to appear as if out of thin air.

Then the empress called her attention, and Zanneth was compelled to accompany Celene, Gaspard, and Briala out onto a balcony. Imperial guards surrounded them, and both Bull and Cassandra stood by the door. Leliana and Josephine both stood to the side, as well, clearly not taking part in whatever was about to transpire. Revka and Cullen had both stayed inside the building.

The accusations started as soon as the door to the ballroom snapped shut.

"Your sister attempted regicide in front of the entire court, Gaspard!" It was the first time Zanneth had actually seen Briala. She sounded exactly as Solona had described her, though: perfectly at home amidst these humans' politics.

" _You_ are the spymaster," the man countered. "If anyone knew this atrocity was coming, it was _you_."

"You don't deny your involvement."

"I do deny it! I knew nothing of Florianne's plans! But you… you knew it and did _nothing_!"

"I don't know which is better: that you think I am all-seeing, or that you try so hard to play innocent and _fail_!"

"Enough!" Celene did not move, but her exclamation was enough to silence everyone. "We will not _bicker_ like _children_ while Tevinter plots against our nation! For the safety of the empire, I _demand answers_!"

Zanneth blinked at the ferocity and the _feeling_ in Celene's voice. _She is the only one concerned with this nation. Gaspard wants it because it is his by birth, but he speaks nothing about his vision for his nation, nor of its safety or the people within its borders. Briala claims to want a voice, but she storms in and bickers just like these_ _ **shemlen**_ _! Celene rises above it all and speaks of_ _ **the**_ _empire, not_ _ **her**_ _empire._

 _Of the three here, she is the only one I would wish to lead me._

"Your Majesty, if I may," Zanneth said. She had some idea of how important these people were. But Josephine's and Cassandra's wide eyes in the background made it clear to Zanneth that she was probably speaking out of turn in this invisible hierarchy of titles.

"Yes, of course." The empress drew herself up before continuing. "You have saved us, and you have kept our nation from crumbling. You have waded through our politics to accomplish your goal of foiling the plans of he who opened the Breach in the skies. You alone have acted in the best interest of all Thedas tonight. We would be _wise_ to head your words."

Heart hammering in her chest, Zanneth outlined her case against Gaspard. He played a small game, and his concern was solely that of having a nation, not what he would do with it. Briala she left alone. She hoped the elf could continue to make things better for the elves of Orlais, but she could not stomach supporting someone who would try to kill that servant she'd saved simply because of a _grudge_. That was _also_ a small game. It was petty, it was a cruel, and while Zanneth had no doubt Celene had done _that_ and _worse_ as empress, she still felt that Leliana was wrong. If she must select between three evils, Zanneth would select the one she felt was most able to rule, and whose support came through honest gratitude rather than through the manipulation of Gaspard _through_ Briala.

Leliana was wrong. Sometimes the simplest way, the easiest way, _was_ the best way. Just like the path a stream takes through the woods.

"Assuming the Inquisitor is right, Gaspard, I will have no choice but to declare you Enemy of the Empire." The empress turned away from him. "Guards, seize him."

"No!" Gaspard shouted, taking a step toward the empress. Her guards interceded, grabbing him by both arms and wrenching his hands behind his back.

Celene next faced Zanneth. "Inquisitor, if your people can bring me the evidence, I can make the final judgment."

"Of course, your Majesty," Zanneth said, falling into a shallow bow. What would happen next, she had no idea. But as she was drawn back into the ballroom, she could at least be assured that she had accomplished what Dorian had spelled out for her: she stopped the assassination of Empress Celene.

* * *

"How are you feeling with the Inquisitor's decision, Leliana?"

Solona watched as her lover paused, pursing her lips. "I still think my recommendation was the better option, but she made her decision. She is right. We gave her that authority. It was her decision to make, not mine. I wish she had reconsidered, but…"

Solona nodded, sighing and turning to look out the window. She knew that was not the end of Leliana's feelings on the matter, but she did not wish to push her on her complex moral dilemmas while there was still work to be done.

It was a few minutes more of Leliana writing at her desk before her voice filled the room. "So. Are you going to tell me what's bothering you now?"

Solona's heart kicked in her chest. She had deliberately kept the information about Morrigan from Leliana during her report. She didn't want to make it that much harder for Leliana, and she wanted to do so in a place where they could discuss it.

They could discuss it now. They had a small sitting room to themselves, allowing Leliana to meet with her agents, and to have just a moment of not having to hide her true identity or her deafness. And she chose this moment to latch on to seeing Solona so upset earlier. It shouldn't surprise Solona. Leliana was even more perceptive without her hearing than she'd been _with_ it.

"Yes. I… well, how to say it?"

"What? Just tell me, Solona. However upsetting it might have been before, it cannot ruin anything now. The fate of the empire has already been decided."

"I had a dance with Morrigan. _She_ is the Empress's occult advisor everyone has been whispering about."

Leliana was quiet for a moment. Solona seated herself on a settee, watching her lover. The former bard's face was unreadable, but Solona had some idea of what she might be thinking. Solona had similar thoughts.

"So she finally shows up." Leliana raised an eyebrow in Solona's direction. "A little late."

Solona snorted a laugh, then breathed a sigh of relief. Leliana was angry, Solona could tell. But she didn't have to deal with that anger being misplaced. It didn't happen often, but with something like this… there had certainly been the potential for it.

Leliana wandered close. She was free of her religious cowl for now, and allowed plenty of emotion to enter her expression. She reached out, and Solona mirrored her, taking her hand and guiding the shorter woman to sit beside her. "So. What happened?" the spymaster asked.

"We… danced."

"Yes, you already said that."

"Of course. She… she's grown up."

"Yes. As have we all." Her eyes turned down, and she reached a hand up, palming Solona's cheek. "What is it, Solona?"

"She just… _left_!" Solona said, then took a deep breath, calming herself. "She left, and she could have been dead for all we knew. She saved Elissa, but after that? We didn't always agree, and I know how you feel about her, but dammit we were _friends_! And she just _left_. And now here she is, speaking with me like ten years haven't passed since Denerim and I… I just don't quite know how to process it." Solona sighed, turning her face so she could press a kiss to Leliana's palm. "And I have this feeling that we have not seen the last of her."

Leliana was quiet for a moment. "It would be like her, wouldn't it? To find a way to involve herself in the Inquisition."

Solona snorted a laugh, shaking her head before pulling Leliana into an embrace. She then pulled back enough for Leliana to see her lips. "So much has changed since Alistair told me of that blasted ritual he did with her. I made some promises that I… don't know if I should keep. I don't know what all this means. What if we meet the child? I don't know what to think of all this. I don't know what to think of her."

"Well, I still think she is a bitch with ulterior motives. That is what she's proven herself to be." Leliana pursed her lips, getting to her feet and beginning to pace. "But as you say, she's grown. How old was she when we knew her? Twenty at best?"

"Likely closer to seventeen or eighteen," Solona supplied.

"And she knew only her mother leading up to the Blight. She has grown up, she has lived among people, and she is presumably a mother. That is a lot of change for one person. I am not the same person I was when we knew each other. It stands to reason that she is not, either."

"I thought you would still hate her," Solona said, signing with her hands for Leliana's convenience.

"Oh, I do. Or rather, I do not trust her, and I did not before, either. But I have larger concerns than _Morrigan_. As long as she does not attempt to seduce the Herald in the way she seduced the King of Ferelden, I will have no problems with her mere _existence_." Leliana paused, lifting a single eyebrow. "Assuming your intuition is correct and we find ourselves dealing with her in the future."

Solona nodded. "I suppose there is that. I just… _I_ trusted her. To have that thrown aside…"

Leliana came to stand before her, placing both hands on the mage's shoulders. "Oh, Solona. My beautiful, trusting, sheltered Solona." Solona looked up into Leliana's face to find the spymaster with a melancholy smile. "Would that we all had only been left, and not fully betrayed."

"I have been betrayed, Leliana," Solona said with a frown.

"Yes, true. And yet you have retained the ability to _trust_. You showed me how to do so again. Your whole family did, truthfully: Leandra started it, then sweet Bethany, then you. Beautiful, trusting _you_." Leliana sighed, then chuckled. "And I have gotten sidetracked. What I meant was that you will be all right. Just keep talking. I will listen. Revka will listen, as will Josie. Maybe don't talk to _Cassandra_ about Morrigan. Somehow I do not think she would take that story well…"

"And what about you?" Solona asked, still looking up into Leliana's face.

"What about me?"

"Are you angry that she's shown up? Are you angry about what she did?"

Leliana smiled, a sad smile, and placed her hand on Solona's cheek once more. "How can I be angry with her for saving you? I believe what Alistair said, Solona. She offered it to him as a way to save himself for Elissa, and as a way to save you – his sister – for his own heart. But if she was thinking in those terms… then I believe at least part of her reason was love. She was not _such_ a talented manipulator. She thought she was, yes, but I _know_ manipulation, and she did not have the skill. Perhaps she does now, but then? I think she was attempting to save you both, the only two beings who managed to slither into her cold, cold heart."

Solona sighed, closing her eyes and thinking back to her conversation with Morrigan. "She did say she… held me in high regard."

Leliana giggled. "Well there you have it then!" She sobered after a moment, caressing Solona's cheek again. "Was that what had you so upset earlier, Solona? Morrigan showing her face after so long?"

Solona's heart kicked. She recalled Leliana risking communicating with her, telling her to calm down, that her nerves were showing. She remembered closing her eyes and employing some of her meditation techniques to calm her blood and slow her breathing. And she remembered what had her so upset.

"I… it was Sera."

"Sera?"

Solona nodded. "Yes. She… well, she fancies me, to put it bluntly."

Leliana's expression opened in surprise. "Fancies you?"

"Yes. She picked the absolutely _worst_ time to let me know that I would be happier if we were lovers."

"She… but she is barely more than a child! I thought her doggedly following you around was because of hero-worship! Perhaps she saw you as a big sister or a mother-figure. But a _lover_?"

"I know. It is absurd," Solona said. "I do not see her in the same light at all. But… well, she forced the conversation, and now she must be both embarrassed and furious with me. She takes her anger out on _you_ , insults you to my face, and tells me I would be happier with her."

"I see. And what does she say about me?"

"Nothing you want to hear, Leliana." There was no reason to repeat any of it. She knew why Leliana adopted a cold veneer: her duty, first to the Divine and now to the Inquisition, demanded it. Solona was not happy to watch Leliana retreat back into that life, but she could not deny that Leliana was _good_ at it. She resolved instead to help Leliana back out into the light whenever she could, and to _not_ watch the sausage get made, as it were. She joined Leliana in her rookery only when there were no other agents about to receive their sometimes-bloody instructions.

Leliana pursed her lips, then sighed. "Honestly, I know you will not stray, Solona. I am a jealous woman, but I am not truly worried. But… this _will_ change your friendship. And it could change things for the Inquisition as a whole. She is… unpredictable at best."

"I'll speak with her before things are too awkward. When we get back to Skyhold. Give her a chance to think, and to put some distance between herself and her confession."

Leliana nodded. "All right. That sounds good." She smirked. "Sounds," she said, then shook her head.

Solona laughed, standing and pulling Leliana into another embrace, kissing her deeply. It warmed her heart that Leliana could retain that sense of humor about her situation.

"Oh, Solona," Leliana whispered after a moment, eyes closed. Solona _felt_ the shiver traverse her lover's spine.

Solona grinned. "Yes?" She let her nails dig in to Leliana's back, traveling up toward her shoulders.

"How do you _do_ this to me still? I have – oh! – I have work that still needs doing!"

"Well. We've done things quickly before. I seem to remember a broom closet at a certain arl's estate…"

Leliana had the good grace to blush. "I was so brazen!"

Solona snickered. After a prolonged kiss, she pulled back, looking into Leliana's cerulean eyes. "Are you convinced?"

Leliana glowered up at her. She caught Solona's chin in a vice-grip and whispered. "Lock the door, my love."

Solona grinned even as a shiver ran down her spine at the rough handling. Some might call her childish, but she knew Leliana would understand that she just wished to recommit their affections after the drama with Sera, after an old friend resurfaced from the ether, after they stopped the assassination of an empress. It had been a difficult night, with a great deal riding on all of their ability to perform their roles. Relieving a little of the pressure in this way was just what she needed.

In truth, it was what they _both_ needed.

* * *

Zanneth stood out on a balcony. Bull was just inside the doors, ensuring her privacy. The Inquisitor took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment and willing the tension out of her body. She set the Venatori bow and quiver upon the stone of the balcony, the polished wood familiar against her skin before she let go. If she tried hard to empty her mind of the last six months or so, she could almost convince herself that she stood atop a cliff, and not on a balcony of carved stone, setting her mother's bow down at her feet.

Almost. Images of Cassandra, memories of her scent and the feel of her skin, intruded upon her mind. Many bad things had happened in those six months. She may have wished she could stand here with her brother Hyune at her side, but she would never, _ever_ regret meeting and loving Cassandra Pentaghast.

"The Orlesian nobility make drunken toasts to your victory, and yet you are not present to hear them?"

Zanneth turned on her heel, her eyes snapping open to find a porcelain-skinned, raven-haired beauty standing just on this side of the doors. Why had Bull let her through?

"Do you tire so quickly of their congratulations? 'Tis most fickle, after all your efforts on their behalf."

"Have… have we met?" Zanneth asked.

"No, we have not. And yet I find myself a sacrificial lamb for the Inquisition."

"I'm sorry?"

"I am Morrigan, Inquisitor. I have served as occult advisor to the empress this past year. But now, by Imperial decree, I have been named as liaison to the Inquisition. Celene wishes to offer you any and all aid – including mine."

Zanneth pursed her lips as she considered the woman before her. "You seem familiar somehow," she finally said. "Are you sure we haven't met?"

"I am. Though I am familiar with the Hero of Ferelden."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I traveled with her during the Blight. She and Leliana were just as sickening then as they are now, though now they have an entire decade to cement their nausea-inducing _romance_. I imagine it won't be going anywhere soon." The woman seemed altogether displeased about that.

"You're the witch in the tales."

The woman – Morrigan – scowled, knitting her brows in distaste. "Yes. I imagine I am."

"I'm sorry. You aren't being _talked_ about, but I've asked Solona about the Blight more than once. You were friends, yes? It stands to reason that you would be part of the stories."

"I suppose… 'tis not relevant, in any event. Do you accept, Inquisitor?"

Zanneth leaned back against the balcony railing. "Do you _wish_ to join us?"

"The assignment has been given to me, regardless of my personal interest. And besides that, I would not join the Inquisition outright. I remain loyal to the empress."

"So, an ambassador, then?"

"Something of the sort. Celene knows you face an opponent who wields great magical power, which is far more important than her own interest in keeping me on her staff. You will require my knowledge if you are to defeat such magic."

Zanneth was surprised at such a statement. "You are so sure? We have all the rebel mages of the Circles swelling our ranks, as well as the former First and Grand Enchanters of Montsimmard, _and_ the Hero of Ferelden."

Morrigan's smile was a little disarming. "Indeed. And all of them have been raised within the Circles, the Chantry. Yes, even Solona. I have the unique position in life of having… studied… with Flemeth, who your people call _Asha'bellanar_. I know a great many magics not condoned by the Circles or the Chantry. I suspect this is also true of Corypheus. Thus it behooves you to add to your arcane arsenal, yes? Mundane knowledge will not bring the rifts in the sky to a close. Only your mark will do that. But obscure arcane gifts might help in your struggle."

Zanneth pursed her lips. "You speak of blood magic?"

Now Morrigan just looked impatient. "I know many obscure, forgotten, and forbidden arts. Some of it might be considered blood magic, but it predates the introduction of blood magic at large by Tevinter during Andraste's holy war. Blood magic is magic, and is turned to in desperation only because it is outlawed. If it were not forbidden, then it could be explored by more than just those who would break the laws laid out for them.

"However, I understand that this can be frightening for those who do not possess magic. Allow me to reassure you: knowledge _alone_ does no harm. What I possess, I place at your disposal, to make use of or ignore as you desire. And to answer your original question: I was assigned to you, but Corypheus threatens all of Orlais, and that includes myself. Thus, I am not opposed to this appointment."

Zanneth thought for a moment. Varric had known a blood mage. She was… young, innocent, formerly First to her clan but shunned because of the blood magic. For the most part, the girl had been fine. She didn't sacrifice anyone else, only using her own blood and only to supplement the power she inherently possessed. Zanneth remembered her grandmother saying something similar about what desperation and arbitrarily naming something "forbidden" could drive people to do when it came to magical power.

Perhaps Morrigan was right?

Zanneth opened her mouth to speak, to tell Morrigan that she would need to speak with her advisors on the matter, but then halted herself. Her advisors had been evenly split on what they thought should happen. She thought back to how angry Leliana had been that Zanneth did not do as the spymaster had advised. But it was not Leliana's decision to make, ultimately. It was Zanneth's. It was _all_ Zanneth's. History would judge _her_ only. She could go to her advisors for direction, but she must make her own decisions. And minor ones like this, she could make on her own; without the input of a potentially biased party like Leliana, who she knew had a history with the woman before her.

"All right," she finally said, standing up and holding out her hand. "Welcome to the Inquisition, Morrigan."

Morrigan took her hand, briefly. "A most _gracious_ response, your Worship."

The title still grated at Zanneth.

"Will you be traveling with us?" she asked.

The witch released her hand, turning to head back inside. "I shall travel to Skyhold on my own. I have affairs to put in order before leaving Orlais."

"Very well. Safe travels, Morrigan."

"Safe travels, Inquisitor."

Zanneth turned to take in the stars once more. It was only half a minute's silence before a familiar and beloved voice sounded behind her.

"I can't believe you escaped before I did," Cassandra said, irritation coloring her voice in a most familiar way. "A lecherous count insisted on plying me for scandalous information about your _bosom_ our entire dance. All while his hands strayed all manner of places they were _not_ welcome."

Zanneth smirked. "How did you fend him off?"

"Solona took pity on me and informed the count that you would use your mark to remove his head from his shoulders if he continued to touch property that was not his. That was enough to make him scuttle off somewhere to bother someone else." Her voice got low as she added, "Of course, then I was stuck finishing out the dance with Solona."

Cassandra leaned against the railing next to Zanneth, her voice softening, losing its irritated veneer. "I feel we have barely spoken. How are you? Is something wrong?"

"Would you be satisfied if I shrugged you off by saying, 'It's been a long night'?"

The Seeker let out a tiny laugh. "Not one bit."

Zanneth sighed, turning and leaning back against the railing once more. "I can't help but feel that disaster was only averted, but not vanquished."

"That is because disaster has only been averted, but not vanquished," Cassandra said, a slight sardonic cadence to her voice.

Zanneth chuckled, shaking her head. "I can always trust you to be honest with me."

"Most of the time. It took me some time to be honest about how I felt."

"Yes. It did." Zanneth hung her head back to look up at the stars. "But you knew. That was better than me."

She felt Cassandra press her body against the elf's, leaning over her to press a kiss to her chin. As Zanneth straightened, she felt Cassandra's arms snake around her waist, pulling her close. Her heart was suddenly racing.

"I think you can be forgiven, considering all that had befallen you in a very short time."

Zanneth smirked. "Well, I know now. That is what matters, yes?"

Cassandra grinned, nodded, and then covered Zanneth's lips with her own. Zanneth wrapped her arms around her lover's neck, doing her best to keep up with Cassandra's ardor. It had been a long evening, but it was finally over. They had earned a little time to themselves.

* * *

 _A/N: Aaaaand we're done! I don't know if commenters were just quiet on Halamshiral, or I screwed the pooch on it, but whatever. We're moving on. It's my least favorite part of the game, and it was my least favorite part to write because the maneuvering is just not a strength of mine. So I'm just going to cut my losses and move on._

 _I do hope the ending is at least satisfying, though. And that everyone (in the northern hemisphere) had a great summer! On to new things! Both in life, and in this fic!_


	13. A Mission For The Wardens

_A/N: So the consensus seems to be that Halamshiral was boring in the game and in this fic. But no one knows how I could've made it better, least of all me. It's just... not my strong suit. But that's what this writing is for, yes? To explore and try things out and see if we can get better._

 _However. I don't want to write a boring fic as a whole. So, I hope things start to pick up from here._

 _And now... back to Skyhold._

* * *

Aisling woke before the sun. She pulled clean linen trousers on, strapping her sword to her back and leaving her room. She and Josephine shared quarters unofficially; Cauthrien technically had a bed in the barracks set aside for her, but she never used it. Joining the soldiers now seemed ridiculous, even if it was… lonely in her bedchamber without her lover.

So she left early, earlier than when Josephine slept at her side, and greeted the sun with a practice sword in-hand. Occasionally, she was joined by Krem or another of the Bull's Chargers for a sparring match, but the regular soldiers knew to leave her alone during this time. It was for _her_ , not for them, a time she used for exercise and meditation, to center herself for the day ahead.

Once the sun was in the sky, but not yet over the walls of the castle, Cauthrien changed into warmer clothes and broke her fast at the War Table, studying the deployment of the scouts and squads of patrols she had sent out. Their ranks continued to swell, if by only a trickle, and it was time to explore further from the castle. While the Inquisition might never have a sizeable presence in _all_ of Thedas, still they needed to exist in more than this solitary castle. She and Cullen had discussed it at length: part of their vulnerability at Haven had been that _all_ of them had been in one place. It made them a target.

In addition to needing to see, they also needed to be seen by the people of Thedas as _doing something_ about the threat.

So Aisling sent out scouting parties and squads of soldiers to roam and see if they could find rifts, to inquire how they might help in the little villages and hamlets that dotted the hills and valleys outside the Frostbacks, and to generally make the Inquisition look like a sizeable force. She may not be a diplomat, but she knew that people were drawn to power. If she could make the Inquisition look like it possessed more than it did, she might be able to attract some of both the numbers and the coin they needed to expand their operations.

Once she had broken her fast, Aisling retreated to Cullen's office, where she looked over the missives that were not marked for the commander's eyes only. She drafted orders, sent runners, and directed her lieutenants in the training of their raw recruits.

Then she spent her lunch entertaining the few visiting nobles, along with two of Josephine's more experienced attaches. These ambassadorial staff were often the younger sons and daughters of nobles, both Orlesian and Fereldan, who possessed more political prowess than martial. Aisling appreciated them more and more with each passing day, and planned to let Josephine know _just_ how useful and hard-working they had been.

She just wished that the noble brats she got as soldier recruits could be as levelheaded. They were almost universally prats who needed to be knocked on their rumps several times before they could be incorporated into the larger training. They might know how to spar, but it took more than that to be a soldier; working as a team was crucial to survival.

After she lunched with _today's_ dignitaries, Cauthrien mounted the steps up to the rookery. She did not even pretend to play at Spymaster; Leliana had her birds deliver to her on the road, and conducted her business from there. But still sometimes messages came for her via bird – falcon or hawk, raven or pigeon (Leliana used them all for varying purposes) – and the sub-commander needed to check daily for such messages.

There were two today. One was from Leliana herself, strapped to the leg of a homing pigeon she had raised over the winter so that it would consider Skyhold said, in simple words, that the empress had been saved and the assassin was dead. They would be leaving in three days, and it would likely not take them quite a week to make it back, as the Thaw had set in, clearing some of the roads. It was dated two days ago. That meant they would be leaving Halamshiral tomorrow.

The second message was from Scout Harding, who was currently exploring the Bannorn _alone._ She was alone because the only people as good as she were Zanneth and Leliana; other scouts would just hamper her in her stealth scouting missions. Her message was a little more intriguing than Leliana's. Cauthrien took the message down to the War Room. This would take some strategizing, but a plan was already forming in her mind.

* * *

Bethany walked through the ambassador's office – _I wonder when I'll finally get to meet her?_ – down the hallway that had yet to be fully repaired, and pushed open the giant oak door.

The room was large and open, with windows nearly to the high ceiling flooding the room with light. The interior of the room was dominated by a giant table, clearly carved by a skilled hand from a single, giant tree stump – roots could still be seen, the artisan allowing them to act as a stabilizers for the massive table. Upon it were maps, missives, and troop deployments.

None of this had Bethany's attention, however. "Ah. I see I wasn't the only one summoned," she said when she saw Blackwall inside, looking out one of the many windows upon the snow-capped mountains around Skyhold. He turned at the sound of her voice, smiling.

"No, you weren't. I suppose we'll see Oghren, too?" His voice was flat when saying Oghren's name. The man definitely did not like Ferelden's Commander of the Grey, and the feeling was mutual. Oghren had said it was something about a large object needing to be removed from Blackwall's rear end, if Bethany recalled correctly. Bethany and Isabela had laughed, but Bethany secretly knew she did not agree.

Blackwall did not appear to have anything up his rear end when Bethany was around. Though the idea of introducing him to such play was…

 _Bethany, really, pull yourself together!_

"I imagine so, yes, if you and I are both here," she said, forcefully wrenching her mind away from its previous thoughts. She knew it had been a long time since she'd bedded anyone, and she also knew that the fabled Grey Warden stamina had a little-known friend it brought along with it: a _roaring_ sex drive.

Blackwall nodded, crossing his arms and looking to the table. "I thought we wouldn't be allowed to look on such things," he mused, leaning over the table. "Troop deployments usually aren't shared with any but those ranked highest."

"You spent some time with a force of soldiers, I take it?" Bethany asked, also with eyes on the map. She traced the invisible paths her life had taken her: Lothering to Gwaren, then up the coast to Kirkwall; Kirkwall to Amaranthine; Amaranthine to Orlais, to the rest of the Free Marches, even to Antiva once. Her eyes strayed back to Kirkwall many times, flashes of the things that had happened there coming to her. She ended here, at Skyhold. Nothing had happened here. Not yet.

"I… spent some time in charge of a small force, yes," Blackwall said, but offered no other information. Bethany did not press. She would not like _her_ past to be plundered for the sake of someone's idle curiosity.

They spent only a moment in silence before Oghren burst through the doors, his bad attitude already obvious.

"Let's get this thing started," he gruffed. The red bristles atop his head came up to Bethany's shoulders. Despite that, his powerful build and irritation made for an intimidating appearance.

"Ser Cauthrien is not yet here," Blackwall said, brows furrowed. " _She_ is the one who summoned us."

"Bah! Get me from the tavern when she decides to get here, then!"

Oghren made to turn around, but never made it even a step, as that was when Cauthrien decided to make her appearance. She did not even say a greeting, merely starting to speak as soon as she entered the room.

"I have reports of something odd," she said. She handed Bethany a long slip of parchment, the words and letters upon it entirely illegible.

"I… can't read this," the younger Hawke said. "It's a code of some sort?"

"Yes," Cauthrien said, nodding. "Sorry. In short, it says that there is a band of Grey Wardens in Crestwood. Orlesian wardens."

Bethany pursed her lips as she put the slip of paper upon the table before her. "Interesting…"

"I don't get it," Oghren said, frowning.

"What are Orlesian wardens doing in _Ferelden_?" Bethany said. Oghren was a fine commander of a force, especially in the Deep Roads, but he still lacked some of the knowledge that was commonplace to someone raised on the surface. Knowledge of nations was a weak spot for him.

"And what is a band of wardens doing out together, if they've all been recalled to Orlais?" Blackwall added. "I didn't receive the missive, but I was out alone."

"Right. We did," Bethany added, "but we were in Amaranthine. Easy enough to just send a letter there."

"Hard to send a homing pigeon to someone who wanders," Blackwall said, nodding. "And most don't have those highly-trained birds our spymaster employs."

"So Orlesian wardens in Ferelden. And a group a wardens when they're all supposedly recalled ta Orlais. What the _fuck_ are they doin', d'ya think?" Oghren pulled on one of the braided halves of his beard as he spoke, his eyes now on the map. He did not know much of nations and politics, but he knew plenty of the map. He'd been Warden-Commander for nearly eight years. He'd had to learn a lot about the surface when command had passed to him. At least geographically-speaking.

"What are you thinking, Ser Cauthrien?" Blackwall asked. "Why bring this to us?"

"I wanted to see if you might know why they're there," the soldier answered. She crossed her arms over her chest. "I take it you don't."

"Haven't the foggiest," Bethany said, leaning over the map to look at Crestwood. It was on the wrong side of the Frostback Mountains for Orlais. But Cauthrien had _said_ they were Orlesian. "We're sure they're Orlesian?"

"That's what my scout said. She said it was the standard of the Orlesian wardens."

"Should go 'n see, just ta be sure," Oghren said, squinting up at Cauthrien. The light was a little brighter in here than he probably would have preferred. He wasn't all that drunk yet – Bethany was familiar enough with an inebriated Oghren to know – but he'd likely spent most of the daylight hours of the past week indoors with poor lighting. And he was a _little_ drunk.

"You mean leave Skyhold? I'm not sure. I think the Inquisitor should decide," Cauthrien said.

"Don't give a shit about what th' Inquisitor wants," Oghren retorted, looping his thumbs into his belt. " _I'm_ the commander here. These're wardens, I'm Commander of the Grey in this miserable outfit. _I_ decide what the wardens here _do_." He side-eyed Bethany, then Blackwall. "Assumin' this nug-humper'll take orders from someone not of _his_ group."

"You are the Warden-Commander," Blackwall said. "I follow your orders, Ser. Assuming they make _sense_."

"Don' _ser_ me. Just don' give me any gruff durin' a fight, and I won't give two shits about what you do the rest of th'time."

Blackwall actually smiled. "Fair enough."

"So… you'll be leaving Skyhold, then." Cauthrien unfolded her arms, picking up several small pebbles and placing them on the map over Crestwood. "I imagine you'll take Ser Hawke and her… Captain Isabela, as well?" Bethany giggled at the stumble.

Oghren shrugged. "If they wanna come, I'll take 'em. Not like we're gonna march into these wardens' camp and ask 'em what they're doin'. So no point keepin' it only wardens."

"Is your scout still in the area?" Bethany asked.

Cauthrien shook her head. "No. She sent me this and moved on." The sub-commander paused, taking on a funny expression, her eyes crossed and her finger hovering over her lips. "She also sent word of an abandoned fort that could be a potential stronghold for the Inquisition in the area. What if… what if I sent a squad with you, and they helped you secure the fortress? We could establish an Inquisition presence, and give you a base out of which to operate while you scout these wardens."

Oghren got a calculating look, his eyes squinted as he peered at the map. Bethany liked the idea. She was tired of traveling with just the five of them. She was a loner by virtue of a childhood spent as an apostate, but she enjoyed people when they were available. A variety of people was… nice.

Even more than that, though, she liked the idea because a castle full of Inquisition troops sounded a lot safer and more comfortable than a camp out in the melting snow.

"All right. Get us some of yer fancy Inquisition uniforms so we blend in, and Bethany 'n I will work on a strategy on th' road."

Cauthrien smiled. "Excellent. Let's get to work."

* * *

The journey to Crestwood would take three or four days on horseback, given the paths were still covered in melting snow. Bethany had her horse to herself this time, as the Inquisition had enough horses – thanks to the marvelous negotiations of its diplomatic team – to mount her entire party, plus the squad of soldiers joining them. As much as she cared for Isabela, she was grateful to not be riding together with her. The pirate did not have wandering hands, but Bethany still felt ogled – _A friendly ogling!_ Isabela had declared once – the entire time they were together. Having a break while her sister and the pirate had reunited – again and again – had been nice, and she was glad to have it continue now.

"You look rather introspective, if you don't mind me saying so."

Bethany looked up from the icy path to see Blackwall had come up beside her. She smiled, and he moved a little closer. He was such a gentleman, waiting until he knew she wanted his company, rather than forcing it upon her.

"I suppose I am," she replied.

"What were you thinking on, if I may ask?"

Bethany shrugged. "Honestly? Isabela's lecherous ways."

"She is rather singularly focused on such things."

Bethany just chuckled.

"Have I missed something? Am I wrong?"

Bethany sighed, still smiling. "You've seen just what she's wanted you to see."

His eyes, much more grey than blue out in the clear sunlight, looked to her in confusion. "I'm afraid I don't follow. She puts on a mask? It's all an act?"

"Oh, Isabela's lechery isn't _faked_. She's every bit as randy as you see. But it's _all_ she allows you to see. She has a small fleet of ships under her command, with a first mate she trusts enough to leave in command while she attends to the Inquisition with Damian."

"You don't say." Blackwall looked like perhaps Bethany was having him on.

Bethany nodded. "She's also a rather talented duelist, with the scars to prove that she can take as good as she gives. And she's entirely devoted to my sister, to boot." She winked over at Blackwall as she added, "A whole lot more there than just a slattern, yes?"

Blackwall chuckled, shaking his head. "There I go, making assumptions. I should know better."

"It was an understandable assumption. And the one she wanted you to make. The less people assume about her, the more of an upper hand Isabela has should it come to protecting herself or those she cares about."

"Are you giving all my secrets away, Sunshine?" Isabela called from some distance behind Bethany. She was flirting with several Inquisition soldiers simultaneously while Damian grinned from the sidelines.

Bethany just smiled, not turning around. "You see?" she said, more quietly, necessitating Blackwall to steer his horse closer. "All those two men see is a woman who might like to get in their pants. But if they tried to take her when she didn't want it? They would be unconscious and possibly castrated, because they're absolutely underestimating her as a woman."

"So, the element of surprise, then?"

Bethany smiled. "Yes."

"It is… unfortunate that she finds herself in need of such strategy. That so many men find they must… _take_ when it is not freely offered."

Bethany smiled, quietly pleased. "Yes… well. Spend enough time with criminals and the seediest sorts of people, and someone will try to take _something_ from you. It is important to know how to defend oneself."

"Is that true for you, as well, then? Are you more powerful than you seem?"

Bethany looked sideways at him, confused. "You… do know I am a mage, right?"

"I…" Blackwall's eyes moved to the enchanted staff now secured to Bethany's saddle. She didn't need it to use her magic, of course, but it was a useful weapon in its own right, and aided her focus in battle. "I suppose I had not put that together. This is the first time I've seen your weapon of choice."

"Is... that going to be a problem?"

"If magic-users were a problem, I would not have stayed with the Inquisition after we took in the homeless rebel mages." Blackwall was quiet for a moment before speaking again. "Did the Fereldan Order have other mages? Or just you?"

Bethany inhaled and then sighed very deeply. "While Solona was Commander of the Grey, we had several mages. Before my time, there were two others with her, a Dalish Keeper and a man from Ferelden's Circle. They were both gone by the time I arrived. One, in fact, I met in Kirkwall before I ever joined the wardens. Oghren hasn't recruited any other mages since, but not because he has any particular problem with mages."

"I imagine the Circles rebelling also limited any recruiting in that arena," Blackwall commented.

"That, too." Bethany sighed, remembering Anders in Kirkwall, before the Deep Roads expedition. He'd been broken even then, sad and introspective, with a propensity toward righteous anger that easily turned violent – when Justice took over. She'd been so surprised to learn in Amaranthine that he'd once been bright and optimistic, with a biting sense of humor before he'd taken Justice into himself. Solona had held off on pursuing the man, said that he needed to find his way and that she couldn't help him with that. _Too bad his_ _ **way**_ _ended with him blowing up the Chantry and starting the blighted rebellion. I wonder how Solona feels about that?_

"You've disappeared, again, Bethany. I will leave you with your thoughts." Blackwall began to move away.

"No! No, please," she said, reaching out for him and having her hand find only air. "My apologies. I find my mind wandering more than I would like of late. I'm… not used to having someone so serious to speak with."

"I could attempt to tell a jape or-"

"Please, that's not what I meant." Bethany took a deep breath before continuing. "Damian and Isabela both jest to the point of annoyance. If you say something serious, they will still twist it to be a joke. It is fun most of the time, but sometimes I'd like to talk seriously about something and have it treated with its proper solemnity. Whereas Oghren doesn't share with anyone and expects everyone else to comport themselves the same."

Bethany paused, looking over to Blackwall's brooding face and smiling. "I feel like you can do all of those things, and I like it. I feel… safe…talking to you."

Blackwall was quiet a moment before nodding. "I am glad you feel safe talking to me. The feeling is mutual."

Bethany sighed, rolling her eyes. "Look at me, turning the conversation so somber."

"What is it your mind is turning to, to steal your attention away from our rather monotonous ride through the countryside?"

She frowned. "How much do you know about what happened in Kirkwall?"

"No details. I know only the rumors: that the Grand Cleric died at the hands of a mage, and that the Knight-Commander of the Templar Order went insane. And that it was the catalyst for the Mage-Templar War, though of course not its true _cause_."

She nodded, her eyes losing focus as images flashed through her mind.

"Did your sister tell you what really happened?" Blackwall prompted.

Bethany's eyes snapped to his. "She didn't need to. I was there."

His eyebrows rose so high they tried to disappear into his hairline. "You were in Kirkwall when the Chantry fell?"

"Yes. I was visiting my sister. I… don't have good luck when I visit my sister, I'm afraid."

Blackwall was quiet for a moment, contemplating his horse's mane. Finally, he looked up again, a slight smile on his face. "That sounds like the beginning of a _fine_ tale, my lady."

The corners of Bethany's lips quirked up at the corners. She ignored the honorific, turning her head only a little to look at him. "It's a _long_ tale. Are you sure it's one you'd like to hear?"

He shrugged. "I see nothing else going on until we stop for the night. But I understand wanting to leave one's past… well, in their past."

"No. I… it would be nice to speak of it."

"Well." Blackwall's beard lifted with his smile. "I would be honored to hear it."

Bethany took a deep breath, centering herself while she decided where to start. "The first time I visited after leaving Kirkwall was for my mother's funeral…"

* * *

On the third day, they rounded the tip of Lake Calenhad. While part of the Bannorn, Crestwood was one of many little villages that were independently run. On paper, this was wonderful for the inhabitants: they didn't pay taxes to a bann or arl. Functionally, however, this meant that no one came to the village's aid in a time of crisis. Like Lothering, Crestwood had been on its own during the Blight.

And, just like Lothering, Crestwood served a rather vital function, sitting right near a dam to the river. During the Blight, it had been overrun. Damian had studied the maps provided by Ser Cauthrien. It was stirring up a lot of rather uninvited feelings about when she and her family had left Lothering eleven years before.

Entirely _unlike_ Lothering, however, was this report of walking corpses in the countryside. Hawke had yet to see one of these Fade rifts the Inquisitor could close, but she had plied Cauthrien and Cassandra for all they knew of the things before Cassandra had left for Halamshiral. If she was going to be going out on a mission for the Inquisition, she needed to know as much as possible. And from what she'd learned, this undead business sounded very much like one of these Fade rifts.

Which meant they needed to find it, and do what they could to secure it until the Inquisitor could travel here to close it.

The instructions had come via messenger from the Inquisitor's travel party on the new strategy regarding rifts, and Cauthrien had begun making sure all scouting parties had at least one mage capable of setting wards. The party Hawke traveled with had _three_ mages, including Bethany, so they should be fine no matter what they ran into. But the thought of these rifts still chilled Damian's very bones.

As they traveled, Isabela had flirted with every strapping young man and woman in the saddle who was not Bethany or Oghren. But each night, she set up her things in Damian's tent, and the two of them had enjoyed the quietest sex they were capable of. It was a comfort. Damian had lost very much in her life, but she had also gained Isabela, and the comfort they gave each other went so much further than their bodies. Being with Isabela was being with someone who understood her mind better than even she herself did at times. Others may not understand their love, or be distracted by the lack of exclusivity between them when it came to screwing. But it was a love that was deep and true, and made them both stronger than they were on their own.

Isabela rode close by, oddly quiet for most of the morning. Her hair was pulled back in the wind, her faded blue bandana still bright enough to set a cheery contrast against the caramel of her skin. Her hair had several highlights of grey to it, somehow making her even more attractive. Damian had glanced over several times, admiring the way her lover looked even in the muddled overcast of the morning.

She caught Isabela grinning as she looked over once more. "If you keep staring, I'll have no choice but to ravish you right here in front of everyone," the pirate remarked, keeping her eyes locked ahead.

Damian eyed the woman's red, sleeveless bodice, her skin-tight leather breeches, the matching bandanas in her hair and sashed loosely around her waist. She rarely _didn't_ want Isabela to ravish her. Indeed, the temptation was strong to reach over and loosen the ties to the woman's bodice, exposing her tits to the crisp morning air.

"Hawke." Isabela's amber eyes finally traveled to meet Damian's. "I can _feel_ you undressing me with your eyes."

Damian just grinned. "Can you blame me? I know exactly how good what I'll find beneath is."

Isabela chuckled, looking ahead once more. "I know I'm rarely the voice of reason, but something tells me it wouldn't be a good idea."

"And why is that?"

"Don't you feel it?"

Damian knit her brows at that. "Feel what?"

"I'm no landlubber, but it seems… quiet."

Damian paused, listening. Isabela was right. It was far too quiet. Their horses should not have disturbed the local wildlife; they were traveling at a canter at best, given all the ice and snow still on the ground. Spring was dawning; the animals should be in full swing, along with the blooming crocuses that could be seen in patches along the side of the road. So… where were all the noises associated with the birds and the bees and the other small animals waking from their winter slumber?

All thoughts of sex and bosoms forgotten, Hawke called for a halt.

"What is it?" Oghren gruffed. Technically he was in charge, as Warden-Commander, but they'd been in hiding together for six months. He knew enough to know she wasn't trying to seize power; that she had a reason for halting their small party.

"Isabela noticed first. It's rather quiet for a small party of cantering horses," Damian said, peering around.

"Ambush?" he asked quietly.

"Absolutely."

The dwarf nodded, pursing his lips. Then he lifted his voice. "Come on out, ya shit eaters!"

Nothing happened. "Draw weapons," Hawke hissed, and within seconds all hands held the rider's preferred weaponry. Why weren't they attacking? She looked from one side to the other: densely packed trees on both sides, with an opening far ahead. _It's the perfect place for these pricks to come swarming out of the trees._ Hawke frowned. She did not know a different way to go. She should have studied the maps more closely.

Finally, she got down from her horse, handing the reins to Isabela. She didn't know how many were in the trees. She _did_ know that she currently stood with less than twenty fighters, however. They had a mission here. She needed every single one of them to make it through if they were going to hold that keep for the Inquisition.

She pulled her massive, two-handed sword – a gift from the Black Emporium in Kirkwall after she saved the shop from ruination at the hands of anti-mage looters – and called out.

"We are at a stalemate! Send out your champion, and I will fight him!"

"Damian!" The hiss was from Bethany. She looked back to see her sister scowling, concern coming through despite the irritation. Bethany hated it when Damian played the hero and put her own life at risk unnecessarily.

She winked, then turned back around. She heard rustling ahead, then a single figure emerged from the trees. He was a pale-skinned man with a set of armor that was perhaps a _bit_ too big for him, armed with a sword and shield. He moved with a slight hitch to his step.

"Surrender, give us all your food, and you can go on your way," he said, just loud enough for Damian to hear. Okay, perhaps his armor was not too big. Perhaps hunger had shrunk him down since he'd obtained it.

"You're in a rather desperate state to be demanding anything of _me_. If you want the food, come claim it." She raised her sword.

"Wait!"

Bethany rode out between them, eyes on the man. She held out a hand to both of them. It looked conciliatory, but Damian knew that Bethany could put either she or the other man on their arses with only a whisper. Her little sister was a decent healer, but her favored spells involved fire, ice, and invisible waves of force.

Bethany now addressed the man standing in the road. "Ser, you are desperate and hungry. If you are the champion they sent, then I imagine your fellows are even more desperate and hungry. Why try to take from us in such a state?"

"Because the dead walk out of the lake!" he cried, clearly weary and quite possibly delirious. "Is there some other option but to try to survive?! By any means we must!"

Bethany turned her horse, meeting Hawke's eyes with a warning before proceeding. Hawke did not physically change her stance, but she did mentally prepare herself. She was happy to let Bethany try to negotiate, but if it didn't work, that bastard would _not_ touch her sister.

"Perhaps we can help each other," Bethany said. She gestured to her chest, emblazoned with the symbol of the Inquisition – her Grey Warden uniform had been put away for this mission – and continued. "We represent the Inquisition. We feed and clothe those who join our ranks. We provide training and purpose for those who wish to help the Herald of Andraste close the rifts into the Fade. Join us, and we will share what we have."

The man eyed her suspiciously. "What would we need to do in return?" Damian was surprised he was even considering the offer, given the deep suspicion etched into his face.

"Help us in our mission here in Crestwood. We need information, and we could use a few extra hands."

The man continued to eye Bethany, his skepticism clear. Damian heard the horses behind her shift nervously. They were all trained beasts, the horse master in Skyhold having retired from service to the Arl of Redcliffe. They knew the tension before battle, and would likely need to be walked down from their rush of adrenaline whether or not battle ensued.

Finally, the man nodded, and sheathed his sword. His shield he hung upon his back. "I am Rubold of Crestwood. The village is gone. I lead those villagers who survived the attacks."

Damian sheathed her own sword and stepped around her sister's horse. "Rubold, I'm Damian." She left her family name off. Fereldan commoners had no family name, so giving one now would only make her stand out, doubly so for her name to be Hawke. She did not want that identity known for now. "I would say 'well met,' but given the circumstances…"

"Aye. Trust is earned, not given." He considered her. "As a show of good faith, keep a weapon drawn on me while I take you to my people." He eyed everyone else. "Their weapons should be sheathed. We have a lot of wounded, but we can still defend ourselves."

Hawke nodded, pulling the dirk from hip. Carrying the greatsword when it wasn't necessary was tedious. She was just as talented at gutting a man in close quarters with a dagger as she was at taking his head with her sword.

"All right," she said, taking a step toward the man. She would let Isabela lead her horse for her. "Lead the way, Rubold."


	14. An Unexpected Arrival

_A/N: Potential trigger warning? Maybe? It's a big spoiler, though, so... read at your own risk._

 _Traumatic birth imagery ahead. Anyone who doesn't want to read about this, or might be triggered because of personal experience, might want to just go ahead and skip to the last section so you know what happened._

 _On a personal note, this was difficult for me, given the fertility hoops my wife and I are currently jumping through. But it's also been cathartic, in a way, so I'll take it._

* * *

Revka rode in the carriage with Cullen alone this time. It was not that she did not like Lady Vivienne's company, but she had been experiencing some pains since the day before, and was far more comfortable with more _space_. Lady Vivienne had agreed, and gone to ride with Josephine and Leliana in order to give Revka and Cullen some privacy.

Now, she lay on her side, looking upon Cullen's face as he, in turn, looked upon the scenery. The light played delicately upon his pale features, so different from her own. His blonde curls were a little lank – he needed a bath – and his face made it clear it had been a couple of days since he could shave, but on the whole he had full cheeks and a relaxed brow. The tension that had plagued him since leaving Skyhold for Halamshiral was gone.

"What are you thinking of?" she asked him now, watching him turn to smile at her.

"My sister, actually," he said. "She would have loved the masquerade. Perhaps if there weren't so much playing of the Great Game, I'd be willing to invite her to something similar."

"I wish I could meet them," Revka said, closing her eyes. "It would be nice to know this family you speak so fondly of." She frowned. "Especially given the particularly poor example of my own."

Cullen made a noncommittal grunt. Something about it irritated Revka, and her eyes snapped open. "What?"

He looked back out the window. "They would like you."

"That's not what that grunt was about, Cullen."

He sighed. "No, you're right." His eyes moved to meet hers. "I admit I still have a difficult time seeing what was so wrong about what your parents did. Why you left them after the Blight ended."

Revka sighed, heaving her bulk so she could sit up. Her insides gave a strong twinge, but it passed quickly and she was able to settle. Finally, she spoke, quietly grateful Cullen was patient with her while she threw her great, pregnant body around. She felt like a mabari about to have a litter of eight.

"Imagine your parents kept your sister from you," she said, holding his gaze. "Imagine you never knew she existed, and then when you finally learned, they took her away."

"But they only did what the Chantry taught them…"

"I know, Cullen. But I do not wish to spend my energy on someone whose love is so conditional. Giving Solona to the Circle was not the problem. Even turning her back in to the templars was not truly the problem. The problem was that they lied, that they acted as though they never had children before Derek and I. The problem was that they _stopped loving her_ when they gave her to the Circle. Andraste said nothing about this. This was their own twisted interpretation. Or, the Chantry's twisted interpretation that they took to heart. I would protect myself from that, and our child as well."

Cullen pursed his lips, but nodded. "When you put it like that… yes, I would be very angry to learn of my sweet parents doing something so cruel to my sister. _And_ to the rest of us children…"

He was quiet a moment, clearly thinking. He seemed just on the verge of saying something at least three times before he finally engaged his voice. "Revka, I… we haven't spoken of it, but I wanted to apologize. If our children have magic, I wouldn't… I wouldn't do anything to them. I wouldn't _not love_ them. I just… something happens when Solona is around. I can't…"

"What distresses you so about my sister, Cullen?"

"Frankly? She _terrifies_ me. Her magic, her power… no one knows anything about it. The idea that these mages were once Andraste's Chosen… it is difficult to swallow. The idea that the Chantry got it entirely wrong? I had hoped to walk the Gauntlet, to see for myself."

Revka nodded. "It is difficult. But… she can show you. If you would accept it, that is."

"What?"

"My sister can enter the Fade at will, Cullen. She can take a willing person with her, and once there, she has unmatched abilities to warp the Fade around her. She has shown me the truth that was shown to her in the Gauntlet."

"Do you not think she could show you anything she wanted, though? How do you know it is true?"

Revka smiled. "She is my _sister_ , Cullen. She would not lie to me. Besides that, it matches the stories she, Leliana, and King Alistair have all told me about their time at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. With so many to corroborate, how could I doubt?"

"But what if she influenced them all somehow?"

"She is my _sister_ , Cullen."

"And don't you think that makes you too close to judge?!" he nearly shouted. His eyes immediately grew wide, and he threw himself to his knees on the floor of the carriage in his rush to reach for her hand. "I apologize, I-"

"Cullen." She reached out, sweeping her fingers through the curls atop his head. "Why do you distrust her so?"

"I do not _know_ ," he said, exasperated. Revka guided him to sit upon the floor of the carriage, reaching out past her mighty belly to continue to caress his hair.

"I… had feelings for her, once. She was a sweet girl, with a ready smile and a quick wit. She was smart, and would talk with you for hours on the things she learned in the library or with her instructors. When I saw her again, after she had left, she was… bitter. I saw such hatred in her eyes when I helped them tattoo her face. She helped a blood mage escape, and then escaped herself through the Grey Wardens.

"The girl I knew, who had captured my fancy… she was an entirely different person, or so I thought. I felt _deceived_. More so when her party liberated the Circle Tower."

"You were under duress when she liberated the Tower, if I recall correctly," Revka said softly. Her back seized a little, but she was able to ignore it by concentrating on Cullen's voice.

"I know. And that was the last time I saw her. These feelings are… difficult to shake, I suppose. I still feel like she deceived me – _purposefully_ deceived me – and I can't bring myself to trust anything she says or does. Which is ridiculous. She heals our sick and keeps you healthy. She's delivered more than one babe among the refugees who've found us this winter. She…"

Revka stopped listening, even as Cullen went on. Her hands stilled. Something was… _happening_.

"Cullen."

"And she's entirely devoted to _you_ , Revka. It's amazing to watch, really."

" _Cullen_."

He paused, and turned. His face drained of color to see the look on her face. "Revka, what's wrong?!"

"Get Solona," she managed to croak, before a rush of water gushed out from between her legs, soaking the floor and Cullen's trousers in one wave of fluid. If it was possible, Cullen turned even whiter. Then he was on his feet and out the door, his voice filling the air.

Revka lost the ability to listen as her body was seized in the worst pain she had ever felt in her life.

* * *

Solona eyed Dorian from atop her horse. He was looking rather sullen, his attention caught by nothing in the distance. She wondered if she should try to draw him out, or let him keep sulking while he tried to figure himself out.

She opted for interfering in his introspection. Thinking too much made one dour. No fun at all.

"Parents are the worst, aren't they?" she said.

He nearly jumped. His eyes landed on her, and he frowned.

"Your father showing up was certainly a surprise," she tried again. "What did he do to piss you off so?"

"Leave it," Bull grunted from his place walking. The Inquisition actually had a few horses big enough for him, but in a party of this size, he was perfectly comfortable walking the speed they kept, so the horse he'd left Skyhold with now pulled a carriage on its own.

Dorian made an irritated noise. "I never knew you to be a mother hen, Bull."

Bull narrowed his one eye, then grunted and shrugged. Solona noted that he stayed close, however, his ears listening while his gaze landed upon the Inquisitor ahead of them. It appeared he now sought to protect Dorian in addition to the Inquisitor. Interesting.

"So what do you know of shitty parents?" Dorian said, definitely a challenge. "I imagine they're quite happy. One child is the Hero of Ferelden, the other was the Fereldan Ambassador to Orlais. They're even getting little baby Amells! Hardly a thing to complain about."

Solona grinned, enjoying the fact that Dorian suddenly looked uncertain. "I am a mage in a country that despises them, Dorian. My parents gave me to the Circle when I was five, kept my very existence a secret from their other children, then turned me into the templars when I escaped the Circle at nineteen. We have what you might call a _difficult_ _relationship_."

Dorian blinked several times before his expression resolved into a wry grin. "That's nothing. My father tried to change my leanings when I refused to marry a poor girl and force her to carry my children. His legacy was more important that my happiness. Nothing new for noble families, but I refused to play their little game."

Solona snorted. "Nobility and games."

"Indeed."

"You two confuse the shit out of me," Bull said, his attention pulled from the Inquisitor. "He drugs you, you almost kill him, he explains himself, and you're just… friends." He eyed them both again. "Sort of. It's like you're… way too similar to be enemies. But you can't quite bring yourself to be friends."

"Something like that, yes," Solona said cheerfully. Dorian laughed.

"Solona!"

Solona sat up straight in her saddle, looking around to try to find the source of the shouting. Up ahead, the caravan had stopped. Cullen was running toward her, looking possessed as he slipped and staggered through the mud and ice of the road.

Her heart fell through her stomach. _Revka. Something is wrong with Revka_. She threw herself from her horse just as he opened his mouth to shout once more.

"Solona! I need you! _Now_!"

"Dorian!" she shouted over her shoulder. "Go get Leliana!"

She ran to Cullen, taking him by the shoulder to keep him on his feet as she spun on his heel. Then she was following him back to his carriage. She did not even bother to ask him what was wrong. She'd seen his sopping trousers. She could smell the waters he was drenched in.

A midwife did not quickly forget the scent of birth. Revka had gone into early labor.

Time did odd things when one was in crisis. Moments lasted an eternity. Time seemed to skip forward, and you found yourself not remembering how you came to be where you were. Both happened now. Solona almost felt like she was meditating, straddling the Fade and having the forward motion of time _halt_ before she decided _where_ in her field of vision she would appear.

Suddenly, she was throwing herself inside the carriage. The smell of blood was sharp. Revka's birth waters were not the only thing to have come: Revka was hemorrhaging blood. Her sister cried out in pain when she saw that Solona was at the door.

The arcane warrior rolled up her sleeves. "Round up blankets and start some water boiling, Cullen," she said, stripping off her weapons belts and her Inquisition tabard. "And tell someone to set up camp. We won't be going any further this day."

* * *

Leliana ran after Dorian. At first she was less than pleased to see the man, though the sneer Vivienne gave him more than made up for it in sheer entertainment value. But then he was shouting, and while Leliana had no idea what he was shouting _about_ , it was clear he was directing his unnecessary volume at _her_. She followed him, frantic, out of the carriage, and dashed after him, only noticing that the entire caravan had halted once she was already on the move.

When she got to Solona, leaning halfway inside one of the carriages, she finally halted Dorian, grabbed his shoulder, and turned him.

"What's going on? Speak slowly."

He nodded, took a deep breath, and seemed to calm himself. "The babies are coming."

"Revka!" she shouted, moving him aside and going to the other side of the carriage. Opening the other door, she was met with her lover's eyes glowing in the sudden dimness.

"Solona!" She glanced down to find Solona bloody up to her elbows. This was not good.

"Leliana, have someone find somewhere we can move her," Solona said. A quick glance at Revka's face told Leliana that the younger Amell was already laboring hard, in tremendous pain. She was likely making a great deal of noise, but that didn't matter. The spymaster could read Solona's lips regardless. _The one time being deaf serves me well._

Her eyes went right back to Solona's face, but she did reach out and take Revka's hand, letting the woman squeeze as hard as she needed. "She can't give birth in this carriage. There is no room to maneuver. But we must move her soon."

"How soon?"

Solona's eyes snapped up for a moment. "Minutes only."

Leliana nodded. "I'll be back in a moment, Revka," she said, kissing the girl's hand before releasing it. She closed the door and whirled around, finding Dorian on-hand. "We need some kind of shelter," she said without preamble. "No ice, no mud. A copse of trees will do, but a shallow cave or even just an outcropping would be better."

The Tevinter mage nodded. "I'll get the others on it. Stay here and help her. Maker knows you know what you're doing more than I."

"All right." She watched him turn and go immediately to Bull's side. Then the two split up, presumably to find anyone else who was not already busy. Leliana looked around. If need be, they could pull off the road and set up a perimeter, but it would be their last resort. They were far too out in the open right now. If it started snowing, or raining, Revka would be laboring out in it.

Taking a deep breath, Leliana pulled off her vestments. When the light reappeared, Cassandra and Zanneth were both in front of her.

"Revka labors?" the Right Hand asked. Leliana just nodded, handing her vestments to the woman. She then pulled off her gloves and rolled up her sleeves.

"Have either of you aided a birth before?" she asked.

The two exchanged a look _full_ of meaning – a meaning Leliana could not decipher – before they both gave a curt shake of their heads. "It was a duty of the Keeper and her First," Zanneth said. Leliana did not need to be told that Cassandra, as a Seeker, would never have needed to attend to a birth.

"Fine. Find Cullen and aid him. I have attended the queen's births. It was some time ago, but I know what Solona needs."

They disappeared, Cassandra taking Leliana's vestments and storing them with care.

Leliana turned again, just in time to see Sera run up to her. Any discomfort the elf might be have in Leliana's presence was well-hidden in light of the current emergency.

"Have a place!" she said. Leliana could barely read her lips. She'd been told Sera sometimes didn't even make sense to people who could hear. But the spymaster managed well enough to understand those three words.

"Take us," she said.

Cullen ran up behind Sera, stripped down to his undershirt and carrying blankets and white linens for bandages in his arms. His eyes were wide. Leliana had never seen him look so frightened – not even when she first met him in that magical cage in the Circle Tower.

"Come, Cullen. We have somewhere more sheltered for Revka. We will need help moving her. She's entirely unable to move herself."

He just nodded, not bothering to say anything. Leliana took a deep breath, then turned, opening the carriage door once more. "Solona. We're ready to move Revka."

Solona's eyes met her again. "Good. Because there's definitely something going on I wasn't expecting."

"What?"

The mage's eyes traveled up to Cullen, hovering over Leliana's shoulder. "There are two babies."

* * *

Getting Revka to the shallow cave – really barely more than a giant rock jutting out from the ground in just such a way to make a shallow shelter from the elements – was a blur. Solona was pouring everything she had in to magically aiding her sister, finding all the little places she bled from and repairing the damage. Every time Revka had a contraction, however, some new place began bleeding afresh. She was not making progress against the hemorrhage.

Cullen laid out blankets while someone else constructed a tent for them. Leliana set two stones out for Revka to crouch upon. Solona stopped channeling her magic for a moment and reached up inside her sister between contractions to feel the position of the babies.

"All right, Revka. The first is already in position. Twins are small, and it's early yet for your labor, so they'll be smaller. So hopefully… this will go more smoothly than normal." She took a deep breath, holding her sister's gaze. "With your next contraction, I want you to push."

"I… I… I'm not ready!"

"I know, Revka. Look at me." Slate-grey eyes, a match for her own, met Solona's. "They're here. They're coming. There is nothing else that can possibly happen from here on out except that these babies come out. All right? You must _push_."

"I… all right... all right... I- oh!" Revka grunted, bore down, and moaned. A scream tore from her throat near the end. The baby's head did not emerge, but an alarming amount of blood _did_. Solona reached her awareness out again, just to see-

"Stop pushing!"

"What's going on?!" a frantic Cullen shouted from his position squatting behind his wife, where he provided the bulk of her support. He had his half-arm wrapped under her left arm, and his right reached around her and gripped her right hand.

"I…" Solona met his eyes, then Revka's. "Revka, you're bleeding too much. Pushing just makes it worse. I can't… I need a moment to think. Whatever you do, _do not push_ until I say so."

Revka nodded.

"Good. Keep breathing. I'll be _right_ back."

She stood and paced away. Sera was there, looking concerned, like she wanted to help but not knowing what to do. Solona looked down at her bloodied hands. "Water?"

"Right! On it!" The elf popped up like a pouncing cat and darted off.

Solona sighed. What could she do? It was early for labor, and while the babies were in position – or, at least, one of them was – there was far too much bleeding for Solona to be able to stop it. She'd fixed the damage caused during that last push, but…

"I need to cut them out."

"Wha'?" Sera was back, a bucket of warmed water in her hands. Solona took it with a nod.

"I have to cut the babies out," she said again. "Sera, you've helped me with surgery before. Can you help me with this? Leliana won't be able to hear what I need."

"I… all right, if ya need me. Don' wanna get in anyone's way, though."

" _I_ asked you. You'll be fine. Just do as I say."

She turned, marched back up to her sister, and dunked her hands in the water.

"I have a solution. It is extreme, but it _will_ work, and keep all of you _alive_."

"It's that bad?" Cullen squeaked.

Solona nodded, finally addressing him. "Yes. She's bled too much, Cullen. I need…" She shifted her gaze to her sister's. "I need to cut them out, Revka."

Revka's eyes, previously squinted with her exertions, went wide. "Cut… oh!" Another contraction chose to hit her at that moment, and she could do nothing but cross her eyes and grip Cullen's and Leliana's hands so tightly her knuckles went pale. Quite a feat, for someone with skin as dark as hers.

Solona looked back to Cullen. "I have to cut them out. I can stop the labor, get the babies out, and stop her bleeding, all in the matter of minutes. She won't even have a scar from the cut."

"But… I can't…"

"She will be asleep, Cullen!" Solona shouted, getting his wandering attention back on her. "She will not feel the pain! And when she wakes she will be whole, minus the blood she has lost."

"I…"

"Do it," Revka croaked, her head lolling to the side as her contraction released her. "I want to live, and I want my children to live."

Solona looked back up to Cullen. He swallowed, then nodded. Solona wasted no time. "Hold her so she does not fall," she said, reaching out her awareness even as she reached beyond the Veil for the source of her power. Revka was asleep in moments.

Her body was still laboring, of course, but Solona could work around that. While Cullen and Leliana laid Revka out on her back, she dispensed with her sleeves altogether, as they would only get in her way. _Another shirt ruined. Ah, well_. Sera pulled the warmed water close, and Solona washed her hands again, this time with soap.

"I need the curved herb blade, dipped in whiskey," she said to her helper. "I need the linens ripped into strips to soak everything up. And I need small, soft blankets for the babes. They will be soft, and their skin will be more tender than usual."

Sera nodded, and ran to Solona's bag of supplies to get the necessary tool.

Solona came back to Cullen and Leliana. "Leliana, I'm going to have Sera assist me, as she's helped with surgery before." She left unsaid the bit about being able to hear her. It was unnecessary. "I need you to be ready to take the babies from me."

"What can I do?" Solona looked up to Cullen, who had shed his shirt and sat on his knees at Revka's head.

"Make sure she keeps breathing and let me know if she stops," Solona said. Sera returned at that moment with the necessary items. Leliana took the baby blankets – the only thing soft enough were Vivienne's silk sheets from her bedroll, gladly donated by the former First Enchanter. Cullen sat with his knees on either side of Revka's head, watching her chest like a hawk watches the surface of a lake.

"One more thing," Solona said, holding her razor-sharp curved blade over her sister's exposed belly – her dress had been cut away, leaving her almost entirely naked.

"What?" Cullen said.

"Do _not_ look at what I'm doing. You will be no good to anyone if you faint because of what you see."

"I'm a soldier, I've seen blood-"

"Cullen! This is your wife, not a battlefield. And _no_ man is prepared to see the birth of his firstborn, much less prepared for seeing them _cut out_ of his wife."

Cullen swallowed, then looked back to the steady rise and fall of Revka's breasts. "All right."

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Solona reached for her power once more. It filled her like a hot drink on a cold day, and it was with a steady hand that she cut. Blood welled, but Sera was there with bandages to soak it up. Solona had to work quickly, otherwise this would not save Revka any of the bleeding she was trying to prevent by avoiding the birth canal. The slice was long, just above her sister's pubic hairline, but almost immediately she could feel a babe's head.

She reached in, guided the head through the incision – held open by the non-squeamish Sera – and then moved to push on the top Revka's belly. The baby was born through the surgical site, and then Leliana was taking it and the placenta, wrapping the baby and its afterbirth up together. It took a moment of reaching up inside Revka to find the second baby – this one was feet-first – and then she had the second one out, as well.

A very knowledgeable Leliana whisked off the babies. Solona's work was not yet done, however. Reaching out her awareness, she found the tissue of the womb, knitting it back together. Next came the layers of muscle, then fat, then skin. Last, Solona reached deep within, finding the tear in the womb where most of the hemorrhaging had originated. Bleeding some after birth was normal. But this would stop it from being an emergency.

"It's done," she said at last, her voice normal as her power faded. She looked up, finding Cullen's brown eyes. "She will live. I need to go examine the babies. Revka will sleep for at least another hour. Will you come meet your children?" Her eyes snapped to her assistant. "Sera will watch Revka for us."

"Like a hawk," Sera said, nodding solemnly.

"I…" Cullen's eyes roved over Revka's face. "Yes. I… would like to meet my children."

Solona nodded, finding her feet and holding a hand out for her brother-in-law. "Cover her up, and let's go."

* * *

Leliana hummed quietly, knowing she could no longer carry much of a tune, but wanting to comfort the babes somehow. She waited with them, swaddled in the white silk. The cloth had changed color of course, the pink liquid of the birthing waters soaking into the blankets right away. She had them perfectly swaddled, even their heads, leaving only their perfect little faces peering through.

Their perfect, _wailing_ little faces.

Holding them, one in each arm, was precious. Normally, Leliana hated that word; it was so _earnest_ in a way that left no room for levity. But as she held her nephews or nieces – she had not had a look between their legs and so had no idea yet how to refer to them – it was the only word that seemed to fit. This was serious. This _moment_ was precious, even if these children would be filling a diaper within minutes of eating for the first time.

Leliana just felt so honored to be the one who got to hold the babes like this, to keep them safe and warm out in the snow while their mother was put back together. Watching Revka be opened up like that had been horrific. But these two had come of it, and now Solona could heal their mother and then come to examine them.

It was only a few minutes before Solona appeared at the entrance of the tent, which had been hastily set up for their use.

"I see their lungs work," she commented. Leliana smiled. She could only imagine how loud and strong their little wails truly were, based on the looks on their faces and their tense little bodies in her arms.

"They are strong," Leliana said, eyeing Cullen. Sometimes she was jealous of men, of their ability to cause a child from lovemaking. But then Leliana remembered her profession and how utterly inconceivable it would be for her to try to raise a child, and her jealousy melted away. Doting on nieces and nephews was the world in which women like her, women whose partners were women, lived. She would accept that role, and teach these little ones to be the best little hellraisers they could be.

Cullen's face was a mix of awe, joy, and pure exhaustion. The birth had gone quickly, but Revka had nearly died. Leliana did not blame him. To have that rush of adrenaline taper off was _always_ exhausting.

Solona went to her knees and took one of the babies. Leliana watched silently as her lover unwrapped the child's lower half. She smiled. It was a little boy, his little sex so small, just like the rest of him. Solona's eyes flashed briefly as she checked the boy's health, and then she was nodding, handing a sharp knife to Cullen, and holding the cord out. Despite his exhaustion, Cullen had a firm hand as he cut the cord connecting his son to the afterbirth.

Solona finally looked up, addressing Leliana. "Trade me and clean him?" she asked.

Leliana nodded, took the little boy, and brought him to a bucket of warmed water that had been brought just before Solona had arrived. Humming again, she unwrapped him the rest of the way.

And gasped.

Under the silken wraps, with the blood and birth waters wiped away, the little boy had hair of the purest white.


	15. Crestwood

_A/N: A couple of things._

 _1) I totally forgot about Leila, Bethany's mabari. As having her around would probably be pretty conspicuous anyway, let's assume Leila got left back in Skyhold with Max and Bella, who also would not have been able to go to Halamshiral._

 _2) Reeeeally off canon now. We'll get on over back to canon... sometime. Probably around when the Inquisitor joins the wardens for storming Adamant. But I figure if you're reading my stories you're probably not a stickler for canon. So... yeah._

 _3) I am super excited to be done with the winter palace and on to all the changes I'm making to the game's story! (Fanfiction is weird, y'all. We get this story we love, we go in, play around with the characters, and change the story. Sometimes completely. It's... well, I love it, but it is weird.)_

 _That's all. Enjoy!_

* * *

It only took a moment to see the half-starved villagers, plenty of which were children, for even Oghren to relinquish the idea of a fight in favor of helping them. Biscuits were passed out to tide over their hunger, and within an hour several hares were shot and butchered for stew. Bethany and the former Circle mage among the Inquisition soldiers immediately set up a field infirmary, and saw to the worst of the injuries. Luckily, the main affliction of the group was hunger. Only one person had a festering wound – Rubold himself. Bethany lanced, cleaned, and bandaged it, and would heal it as soon as it was clear of infection.

He told them his story over the filling stew.

"My son came home in a rush one afternoon," he said between bites. It was clear he was _incredibly_ hungry. "It was a few days after the Breach, I imagine. The big green light showed up in the lake, and the dead had started walking. We shored up our homes, but the village wasn't defensible. So we set up a guard rotation and forbade our children from leaving.

"But my son's sixteen, and can handle a sword. So I typically let him go a little further afield. This day, he'd been at the edge of the lake, said some things had dislodged from the houses what had been buried 'neath the water. He found some papers, the writing preserved. Couldn't read it himself, but I could."

Here Rubold paused, looking mighty angry. Bethany said nothing, but her sister finally grew slightly impatient and tried to prompt him. "What did they say?"

The man's chest rumbled before he spoke. "Something about a job and a lot of coin changing hands. Not all the words were there. But one of them I'll never forget. Said, 'The job is done. You'll never see me again. I can't live with myself.' It was to the mayor." Rubold sighed. "I was suspicious, but it wasn't much to go on, so I sat on it. Then… then my son and his girl came runnin' to me one night, scared out of their wits."

He paused, getting to his feet to get himself more stew. He started speaking again as soon as he sat down upon the stone floor. The group had, at least, found themselves a cave near the lake for shelter from the snow and rain, though it had them rather nervous about their proximity to the undead walking about. But there was no snow upon the ground, and a fire could be built, so it served them better than nearly anywhere else the lot of them could fit: over a hundred people, in all.

"My son and his girl, they'd snuck up to the tavern atop the dam. Trying to find some _privacy_." He grinned, shaking his head. "Ah, to be young again. The dead are walking, but he's still mostly concerned with a roll in the hay. Anyway, they snuck into the old tavern. It was ransacked by those wardens holding the old keep, but they aren't staying there. It was abandoned. My boy and his girl, they go explorin', and they find the dam controls."

Rubold's lips were a perfectly straight, thin line beneath his overgrown stubble. "The controls were perfectly intact."

"I… don't follow," Bethany said, frowning. "What does that have to do with the mayor?"

"That _bastard_ said the darkspawn smashed the controls in the night and flooded the town. He _lied_. For _ten years_. He flooded Old Crestwood himself, and the man he paid to do it couldn't stand to look us in the eyes anymore, so he left. My _wife_ died in that flood, ser. She was down in the tunnels, tending to the wounded refugees." Rubold's eyes remained dry, but his voice became gruffer, choked with emotion. "That bastard drowned all those refugees we'd taken in, as well as half our families."

"You _know_ this?" Damian asked, not sounding skeptical, but neither sounding convinced.

"Aye. Confronted him, I did. Looked _terrified_. Pissing coward ran before I could bring anyone else to hear his confession." He spat for good measure before taking another bite of his stew.

It was Isabela who broke the ensuing silence. "So… why did you leave the village? Sounds like there was a nice, big house empty for the taking and everything. Mayors don't live in shacks."

" _That_ was the wardens."

Bethany leaned forward. "Oh?"

"Aye. Bastards took Caer Bronach in the middle of winter, ran out of food, and came looking for ours. As you might imagine, they were rather well equipped to take it from us. Took everything, in fact: extra clothes, blankets, food, and even tried to take a couple of the older kids. 'Conscription' they said. We fought back. They left, but we knew they were coming back for more – there were only four of them, and that was nearly too much for us. There are at least twenty up at the keep. We're not warriors. Just farmers who know how to fight off your typical bandits."

"And wardens are far from your typical bandits," Damian said, adding a low whistle. "Well. Shit."

"That about sums it up, yea," Rubold said with a dark chuckle.

"D'ya know why these wardens are _here_?" asked Oghren, who had remained largely silent through Rubold's tale.

"Haven't the foggiest," he answered with a shrug. "They just showed up. Suspect they got stuck here with the winter snows. But I don't know why they haven't left yet. If _you_ can make it here, then _they_ should be able to leave."

Bethany pursed her lips, meeting first Damian's and then Oghren's eyes. "I think," she said, giving Oghren a small nod, "that we should see these wardens for ourselves."

"I can take you to a place of observation. Can't crawl in there myself, though. Not while my leg's like it is."

"Fair. Let's get a few hours' rest and go get a look after sunset," Damian suggested.

Everyone agreed, and Bethany retired to her bedroll. It was going to be a long night, so she may as well get what rest she could.

* * *

Bethany squatted in the brush, eyes on the single sentry posted at an observation post in one of the walls of the fortress. She couldn't hear anything from this distance, but he was professional enough to speak to whoever was inside without turning and ruining his night vision by looking inside.

Sighing, she turned and walked in a crouch some ways until she could stand again without making noise. There, in the gaps between trees, she found her sister and Rubold waiting for her. Oghren had stayed behind. Forest sneaking was not his forte.

"You see him?" the tall, gaunt man asked.

Bethany nodded. "Yes. Let's get back, and we can discuss." Nodding, the man turned and set off, leading them the full mile back to where they'd tied their horses.

Damian was silent as they walked, but Bethany knew her sister well enough to recognize the tense set to her shoulders. What was she thinking? And what right did Damian have to be so damn tense? These were wardens. They were _Bethany's_ purview to be upset about. Not Damian's.

"So," Damian said as soon as they could see their horses. "What should we do?"

"I have an idea," Bethany said, staring off into the distance.

"Let's hear it."

"What if Blackwall and I infiltrate them?"

"Infiltrate?" Damian frowned. "No."

Bethany's temper flared. "No? You don't get to decide, Sister. I am a warden and you are not – you made _damn_ sure of that _nine years ago_ when you dumped me on our cousin in the Deep Roads!" She turned and mounted her horse.

"Bethany…"

"No. I will discuss this with Oghren and Blackwall. It's our mission, after all. You're here to support us, not to make decisions."

Giving a slight kick, she urged her horse forward, to take her the ten miles back to the village's shelter.

* * *

"I'm not recognizable," Bethany argued. "Oghren _is_."

Damian frowned, but said nothing. Bethany had made it perfectly clear earlier than Damian had no say in this. It pissed her off, but at the same time she understood. Bethany had been a Grey Warden for _nine years_ and she had functioned just fine without her sister there to protect her. She was still angry about being dismissed, though. Damian had her own experience she could lend.

"Yer a mage," Oghren pointed out. "Might make you a target."

"I don't… _how_? The wardens don't care about that-"

" _I_ don't give a shit. The _Fereldan_ wardens don't give a shit. We were restarted _by a mage_. Other Orders have that blighted rule about 'only one mage per group' or what-have-you. It was _why_ those dick-heads from Weisshaupt tried ta bring Solona in fer questionin' in the first place, aside from th' Architect fiasco. She recruited all them mages, and _then_ let 'em go when they wanted. Lots of magic, and lots of secrets leakin' out." Oghren's perpetual frown deepened. "They might have the same kinds of bullshit prejudices the rest of ya humans seem to have regardin' magic."

Bethany just rolled her eyes. "I don't buy it of Orlais. Clarel is a mage, and she has recruited _so many_ mages. Weisshaupt hasn't gone after _her_." She pursed her lips, her eyes flicking over to Damian before she continued. "What is with you and my sister both wanting to protect me? I'm not a little girl anymore. We need to know why they're here, and we need to know why everyone was called to Orlais. It's unprecedented. We need the information. They might even know about…"

Bethany's eyes flickered to Rubold as she trailed off. Damian knew she was about to say that these wardens might know something about the Calling everyone was hearing.

"No one there would know me by sight," Blackwall interjected, just as Oghren was about to speak again. "I could go with Bethany."

Damian finally spoke up. " _I_ would feel better about that. Oghren can't go. He's recognizable by reputation. And can't keep his mouth shut to save his life."

"Hey!"

"Tell me I'm wrong, Oghren."

Oghren eyed Hawke a moment, then _hmphed_ at her. "Yer not."

Damian grinned. "Like I said. I'd be happier if we didn't send _anyone_ in alone, Bethy. It's not just you."

Bethany's brown eyes regarded her in the firelight for a moment before she nodded. "I suppose that's fair."

"So how are we going to work this?" Blackwall asked, leaning forward with a hand on his knee. Bethany's eyes watched his movements approvingly, and Damian almost sneered. _She likes him,_ she thought, narrowing her eyes. She didn't know him at all, really. She had no idea if this was good or bad news. _I should get to know him some. See if he_ _ **deserves**_ _her._

"I think a new name for you, Blackwall, and no family name for either of us," Bethany said. "Fereldan peasants by birth, the both of us. Keep things as simple as we can."

"And we just… waltz in?" the rangy warden asked.

"We say we received the summons but were slowed by the snow. Got separated from the rest of the Fereldan Order."

"Is that even plausible?"

Bethany nodded. "Oghren set us all off on our own and left Amaranthine in charge of the seneschal. The idea was we would come back once things had settled down, or they would get further instructions from Weisshaupt. Easy enough to get separated when everyone left at different times."

"Some plan, Bethy," Damian remarked. "A flimsy, barely plausible excuse and then wing it from there."

Her sister grinned at her. "I learned from the best, Sister." Damian couldn't deny that one.

Blackwall sighed. "All right. So. We infiltrate these wardens. What kind of information are we looking for?"

Oghren was the one to answer him. "We wanna know why they're here in Crestwood, at this fortress. And we wanna know what Clarel wants with all the damn wardens in Orlais and Ferelden." His beady eyes narrowed at Blackwall. "That enough fer yer puny mind to hold?"

Blackwall's beard twitched downward. "That should be fine, yes."

Oghren _hmphed_. "Fine. Damian 'n Isabela'll watch ya from th' trees. Ya got three days to figure shit out. Then we're coming in and taking 'em out."

Isabela, wandering over with a wineskin she had been rummaging for in her saddlebags, slinked her way into Damian's lap. "So we're on for some mayhem, then?"

"Aye. I know what it takes ta keep ya happy, 'Bela," the dwarf replied.

Isabela eyed Damian. "He makes an excellent point, Damian."

Damian merely raised an eyebrow. "Isabela, I know that the only dwarf for you is Varric, and that is _solely_ because of his chest hair."

She grinned. "Ah, Varric…"

"If we could get back to the plan?" Bethany said pointedly, though her mouth held a half-smile. "Three days, and you attack, and the villagers get the keep. Have you discussed joining the Inquisition fully with them, Rubold?"

"Not yet," the pale man said. "Been a bit of an evening, hasn't it? I figured I'd give them one night of good sleep, then we'll discuss it townhall-like. It'll take some time to get everyone on board." His eyes shifted to hold Damian's. "But show them you mean it? Show them the Inquisition protects its own? _That_ will speak louder than anything you could say with words. Add it to the care you've already shown, and every person here will likely agree."

"Understood," Damian said with a nod. "Now. Why don't we all get some sleep? We've got a long three days of waiting ahead of us."

A rumble of agreement met her, and they all dispersed for their bedrolls.

* * *

"All right," Bethany whispered. She walked next to Blackwall, the man in Oghren's tabard, as his own had been destroyed some time before. "You're Frederic, you're from Denerim, and you fled during the Blight. You ran to Nevarra, where you were recruited."

"Aye. And you're Bethany, from Lothering. _You_ fled during the Blight, and were recruited in the Free Marches."

"And it all has the benefit of being completely true, if skimpy on the details," Bethany mused. "So how did you come to Ferelden, Fred?"

Blackwall smiled. "Well, you see, _Beth_ , I volunteered to bolster their ranks when the former Warden-Commander sent out a call, since I originally hailed from Ferelden. It was good to be home. Met you, and we've been inseparable since."

"Hence why we set out together when Ser Oghren disbanded us in his distrust of the Orlesian Warden-Commander," Bethany said, nodding. "Good. The sentry has spotted us. Let's go."

It took several minutes more, but when Bethany and Blackwall were finally in shouting distance of the keep she began talking. "Well met, Warden!"

"Well met!" the sentry replied. "What brings you here, Warden?"

Blackwall answered. "We're on our way to Orlais! Decided to stay the winter in Amaranthine before heading out!" He paused, making a show of checking out the fortress. "We weren't expecting to run into any other wardens. Might we come in and speak with our brothers?"

The man eyed them a moment before answering. "Aye. But weapons sheathed until you've spoken with the commander."

"Agreed!" Blackwall called. They both knew "weapons sheathed" meant if hands strayed for weapons, they would be killed without hesitation. It was a threat, a promise of violence if protocol was not followed.

"Suspicious," Bethany whispered. "But that's all right. It _is_ a bit of a coincidence to run into them like this."

"Aye, I agree."

The big doors opened for them as they drew close. Three men and one woman marched out, all bearing weapons. Bethany noted that none of them were mages. It didn't worry her, though. Orlais had more mages in their ranks than anyone else, but it was still a small percentage overall. Fifty in several hundred wardens was not _that_ many.

"Well met," one of the men said. He had dark skin and eyes, with brown hair that was a touch ruddy in the sunlight.

"Well met," Bethany replied.

"I am Warden Faris," he said. His accent was somewhere between Ferelden and Orlais. Perhaps Jader? "And you are?"

"I am Bethany, of the Fereldan Order," she answered. "This is Frederic."

"Lovers on the run from the summons?" Faris asked, a slight smirk pulling at his lips.

Bethany was about to deny such a relationship between them existed, but Blackwall answered first. "You've caught us."

Bethany snapped her mouth shut, looked to Blackwall, and blushed furiously.

Faris laughed. "It's all right! You won't be shut out by _us_ for it. We're… not obeying Clarel, either. Why don't you come on in, have a meal, and we can get you settled in a room. It won't look like sweet, married cohabitation, but it'll be a hell of a lot closer than the sneaking about the wardens make you do."

Face still flaming red, Bethany followed Blackwall inside, trying hard to glare daggers at him, all while imagining what kind of torture it would be sharing a room with him. She _wanted_ the attention, but he was using it as a ruse.

 _Maker preserve me, I am not going to last if he has even a_ _ **shred**_ _of interest in me…_

The doors shut behind them, and they were sealed in with their lie.


	16. Ambush

_A/N: The idea for this first section was all Raven's. I changed the setting and came up with the words themselves, but the general idea for it was ALL her. Months ago, in fact._ _And she continues to be a fucking rockstar betabeast and beta-ed this and the last chapter in one day. Because she rocks like that._

 _Also, from here on out I'm going to start switching off chapters. Which means if you're intensely interested in what the hell is going on with Bethany... I apologize. I'm in the middle of writing that right now. But in the meantime, here's what Cullen thinks of his white-haired twins!_

* * *

Cullen sat on his knees, the knife shaking in his hand. He had just seen that his second child was a little girl, her wails even stronger than her brother's, when Leliana had gasped. He'd looked over to see the child's hair was white. Just like the Inquisitor's. Just like Solona's.

His eyes snapped back to Solona. "You…!"

Her eyes met his. "What? Cullen, I need you to cut the cord!"

He sneered, pulling the knife up and away from the baby. "You… you _did_ something to them!"

Solona scowled, then looked over to Leliana. The mage's eyes widened, and she looked back to the baby in her arms, carefully using the sheets to wipe away the blood and birth waters.

White hair was revealed.

Cullen felt sick. "I can't… This isn't…"

"Cullen!"

His eyes snapped up to Solona's as she continued. "Cullen, these are your _children_! Help me, or get out!"

Taking a deep breath, Cullen managed enough steadiness in his hand to cut the cord. Then he got to his feet and left the tent, barely noticing as he burst out into an icy blast of wind.

"Everythin' all righ'?"

He looked to the side to see Sera standing over Revka, still lying unconscious under a blanket. Water obscured his vision, and he turned, stepping around the tent and running for unsheltered ground. His gorge rose and he vomited, the splashing sound enough to make him sick all over again.

When he was done, he gulped down air, panting and wiping tears from his eyes. A handkerchief was pushed into his hand, and he accepted it gratefully, wiping his eyes and mouth before blowing his nose. A waterskin was then pushed into his hand, and he swished out his mouth.

"You're a bloody coward, you know that?"

Cullen was shocked to hear that the voice belonged to Solona. He turned to find that it had been _her_ to hand him the kerchief and the water; he'd thought it had been Sera. Her arms were still red past the elbows, the blood not quite dry. He was suddenly taken by a violent shiver at the sight, at the memory of Revka producing all that blood. He collapsed to sit upon a raised bit of rock, unable to hold himself up anymore.

"They're _babies_ , Cullen. _Your_ babies, at that." Solona glared down at him, not an ounce of forgiveness in her gaze. "Do you think they'll _hurt_ you? Turn into abominations at a moment's notice and terrorize the camp?"

Cullen had no words for her, so he gulped more water, not caring that too much too quickly might make him vomit again.

"You know she told me you'd changed? That you are a different man from the one I knew in the Circle." Cullen couldn't look at her. But she continued regardless. "You held me down as they _branded my face_ , Cullen. Then you _resented_ me for saving my brethren from Uldred. And then, when I run into you again, I find you've married my _sister_. My beautiful, smart, sweet, _not a mage_ _**sister**_! As if that is the only criterion that mattered between us!" Real, true anger was pouring out of Solona now. Cullen could feel it like heat, rolling off of her. "Maybe I _did_ do something to them, just to fuck with you! Can you blame me if I did?!"

He looked up at her now, seeing her eyes still that beautiful grey they'd always been, the beautiful grey his wife's eyes had always been. He'd never seen so much anger in those eyes before. He'd never managed to make his _wife_ as mad as her sister now was.

"Do you love them less, _templar_?" Solona demanded now. "Would you be so cavalier about throwing them away? Do you wish there were a Circle you could foist them upon? Will you throw my sister away so easily?! For the Maker's sake, Cullen, they are your _children!_ Some of us aren't so lucky as to be able to make such gorgeous creatures _without even trying to do so_!"

He blinked up at her. She… she couldn't have children?

 _Of course she can't have children. She's with Leliana. Men aren't part of their partnership, but they're vital for_ _ **that**_ _._ He blinked again a few times, his eyes watering in the stiff, cold breeze. He also vaguely remembered something about wardens being barren.

"I _love_ Revka," Cullen finally croaked. His throat felt like someone had taken sandpaper to it. "She is my _world_. And our children are _so_ wanted. I just… I have a distrust of _you_. An irrational distrust, but it is still there."

"That is no reason to abandon your children, Cullen!"

"I'm not abandoning them! I just… I needed a moment to think!" He coughed, bringing up phlegm colored by his earlier vomiting. Grimacing, he continued. "Five minutes ago we were sitting in the carriage, talking," he said. "It's all so much to take in. And through it all… I really wish I could have some lyrium," he finished in a whisper.

It sang to him, so strongly. It would stop the tremble. It would make him warm. It would make him calm, able to think, able to make decisions. It would enable him to be the man he needed to be while his wife was unconscious and his children wailed into the air for her breast. It would make him strong and capable. He could protect them.

 _Just take some. Just a little. That's all you need._

"You… you're not taking lyrium?" Cullen's eyes snapped up to see Solona blink a time or two. Then her anger seemed to melt out of her. "Having a rough time of it, then?"

He nearly choked on a laugh. "You could say that, yes."

No. No, he would not be taking any lyrium. He wanted it, but he would not have it. He did not have his draught. It sat near his bed, in Skyhold. It was the next one.

The next dose of lyrium he would never have.

"Cullen?" a new voice called.

He craned his neck, peering around Solona to see Leliana standing outside the tent. In her arms were bundled both his son and his daughter.

 _My daughter. My son. I… I have a_ _ **family**_ _._

His eyes flicked up to Solona.

 _And she is part of it now._

The realization hit him like a horse's kick to the chest. He stood up and reached out with his one hand. Solona took it, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Thank you, Solona," he said, shaking her hand once before releasing it. "You saved my wife and children. You saved my family." He met her eyes and made sure to emphasize what he said next. " _Our_ family."

It took a moment, but her expression opened and her lips pulled up in a genuine smile. "Yes. Our family. You're welcome, Cullen. Now," she said, turning and taking one of the babies from Leliana. "Let's get Revka inside a tent and get these two nursing, shall we?"

"I… I can't hold them," he said, suddenly uncertain for an entirely different reason. "I only have one arm. How will I-"

"Pish tosh," Solona interjected. She came close and held the baby out. "Put her head in the crook of your elbow and your hand under her rump. The other arm can stabilize her."

He looked up helplessly. "But there are two!"

"Nobody can pick up two infant children by themselves, even with two hands to do it with," she reasoned, and then the baby was tucked into his arm. "Sera helped Leliana. _You_ will have help, too, Cullen."

Cullen stared at the tiny, caramel-colored face. The child had quieted, and was now nuzzling his bare chest, looking for a breast on which to latch.

"You… you said 'she.' This is my daughter?"

There was a smile in Solona's voice when she answered. "Yes, Cullen. This is your daughter."

Cullen's heart swelled. "Hey there, darling girl." She kept rooting, and he smiled. "You're hungry. Let's get you to your mother."

* * *

Revka winced.

"Is something wrong, love?" Cullen asked. "Something I can get you?"

Solona snorted a laugh behind him. "Nursing hurts, Cullen."

"Nobody warned me about this," Revka complained, but smiled down at the babies nonetheless. They were just so beautiful. And there were two of them! And they were _here_ at long last!

She had awoken hurting everywhere. Her belly hurt, and she had been told she was a mess of bruising where Solona had cut into her. Her legs hurt. Her arms and shoulders were sore like she'd spent the entire day lifting heavy arms and armor. Her back hurt, her insides persisted in cramping and contracting, and she continued to bleed between her legs as though she had her courses. Solona had assured her it was normal, but Revka still felt she needed to check with her sister every five minutes until Solona finally checked and told her that, yes, it was normal. And more than that, she should expect it to continue for a month or more. As long as it grew continually lighter, it was fine.

"Actually," Revka said now, looking up to Cullen, who gazed down upon their children nursing hungrily from her breasts. "I could use something, Cullen."

"Anything," he said, grinning like a fool as his eyes lifted to her face.

"I'm starving. Can I have something to eat?"

"Bread and broth," Solona said. "You can have something more substantial tomorrow, but you were _cut open_ today. Give your stomach a break, yes?"

"Very well," Revka said, though in truth she wanted so much more. She wanted an entire goat plus gravy, several loaves of bread, and a whole wineskin to herself. She was hungrier than she ever remembered being in her entire life.

Cullen rushed out, not even grabbing a cloak.

Revka frowned, concerned about her shirtless husband out in the cold. "Could you-"

"He'll be right back, Revka. It will be fine." Solona came over, reaching out and stroking one of the child's heads with her long, strong fingers. Those hands had birthed these babies into the world. They had opened Revka up and then put her back together. They were amazing hands, attached to an astounding woman.

"We'll need two different colored caps," Solona murmured. "They look the same."

Revka smiled. "Yes. They do, at that."

"Have you thought of names?"

"Maker, no. I…"

"You have some time," Solona said, smiling. Then she leaned forward and kissed Revka's temple. "I'm so glad you're still here, Sister."

"Me, too," Revka whispered, tears pooling in her eyes. Everything made her want to cry. The smell of her children, the pain in her body, the sight of those white little heads and what that meant for Solona, the delighted look in Leliana's eyes – the list was endless. Revka felt foolish, but she was just so happy that she was alive and well and with her children and her husband that she did not _care_ that she was overly emotional.

"Excuse me?"

Revka looked up to see the Inquisitor and Josephine at the flap of the tent. "Yes?" the younger Amell said.

"I don't want to interrupt, but we've been discussing something. And as Cullen, Leliana, and you are part of my team of advisors…"

"Yes, yes, come in," Revka said, beaming as she held her children. She had absolutely no shame about her breasts being out for everyone to see. They were serving the very _necessary_ function of feeding her children. In Orlais, women of her station had nursemaids. But Revka liked the Fereldan custom of suckling one's own children. If Queen Elissa did so, then Revka would do so, too. Hopefully it grew less painful, though…

Zanneth crawled in, but stayed near the canvas wall of the tent. Josie, however, rushed in, finally having the permission she needed to shower Revka in attention.

"Oh, they're _precious_!" Josephine remarked, her hands going to their sweet heads. "And what a surprise! No wonder you were so large, Revka! Two babies!" She grinned and kissed Revka's forehead. "Oh, what luck and fortune to bring into your house!"

Zanneth gave a small cough. "I'd rather not stay too long."

"Of course, of course. My apologies, Inquisitor," Josie said, but did not move. That was okay with Revka. Josie was a dear friend, and while they kept their working relationship professional, they had also dined together, partied together, and even slept with the same men for several years – not at the same time, of course. She was not as close with Josie as she was with Leliana, but the ambassador was still dear to Revka's heart.

Cullen chose that moment to appear, a bowl in his hand and a bundle of cloth tucked under his left bicep. "Here you are, Revka," he said, not noticing Josie or Zanneth until he had placed the cloth-wrapped bread upon the blanket next to Revka. "Inquisitor! What can we do for you?"

Zanneth looked more than a little uncomfortable, at times staring at the babies nursing with an intensity that nearly scared Revka, and at other times looking everywhere _but_ at the babies.

"I want to go for help," Zanneth finally said.

"You… help?" Cullen looked to Revka, then back to Zanneth.

"Yes. You won't be able to move for several days. We are less than a day's ride from Skyhold. Let me go get more soldiers, more equipment. You have protection here, but you should not be riding a horse or even in a carriage for at least a week, if not two. I'll go get help and supplies, and then you can recover in greater comfort and safety."

"We can't let you go off on your own," Cullen started, but Zanneth started speaking before he could continue.

"I have an entire inner circle of warriors, archers, and mages who follow me everywhere I go." Her lips pulled in a half-smile. "I'll be fine. And I'll be coming back with more soldiers."

It was Leliana who spoke up next. "I think it is a good idea. You need your rest, Revka. But this way we can get the Inquisitor back to Skyhold and also do more to protect all of us out here. We can hold our own in a fight, but it makes me uncomfortable that so many of us here, in this one place, are important to the Inquisition's leadership." She shivered. "It reminds me of Haven."

"I don't like that all this to-do is all just for me, but I accept what you all say," Revka said, sighing. She winced a moment as one of the children – the boy on her left breast – bit down particularly hard. "I admit I do not think I could sit comfortably in a carriage right now, even if it weren't moving."

"I, too, think it a marvelous idea. You do need your rest, Revka," Josephine said, reaching out to touch the fuzzy white hair of the little girl on Revka's right. "I offered to go with them, to get at least one of us back to Skyhold faster – I would not dare ask either Cullen or Leliana to leave your side right now – but she refused."

"We might run into a rift or some other unpleasantness, and it would only be the eight of us able to fight," Zanneth said simply. "I do not wish to endanger our ambassador."

"And I could not counter that argument," Josie added, smirking. "Our leader's logic is beyond reproach. And, I selfishly admit, I wish to be here and help you, and to hold these precious babes as much as you will allow."

"I admit, I would like to be more sheltered out here. And have a better defense." Cullen looked to Revka for a moment, possibly seeking permission, then back up to Zanneth. "You truly do not mind, Inquisitor?"

"Not at all." The elf's eyes flicked to Revka, to her children, and her mouth turned down in the slightest of frowns. "I itch to… to be back at Skyhold, to be honest."

"It is agreed, then," Cullen said, nodding.

Leliana got quickly to her feet. "I will come speak with Cassandra. When were you thinking of leaving, your Worship?"

"We are already stopped for the evening now. If we leave in the morning, then we'll be sure to be back to Skyhold before needing to stop again for the night. Assuming Ser Cauthrien is as organized as I know her to be, we can be back here with the needed soldiers and supplies by the following evening."

They continued speaking as they left the tent. Revka watched the tent flap for a long time after, wondering at the Inquisitor's odd behavior. What would make her so sour to look upon these children?

* * *

Zanneth breathed deeply of the crisp spring air. Cassandra and Leliana spoke swiftly in Orlesian next to her, so Zanneth let her mind wander. She thought of the two white-haired babes in that tent, suckling greedily at their mother's breasts. She thought of being that mother. She thought of what it would be like to hold her child in her arms, to feed him, to name him after his father and see the green of his eyes.

She remembered the blood, the pain, and the hope leeching out of her as she miscarried.

 _Not this, too…_

Tears sprang in her eyes, and she dashed them away, turning from her companions to regain her composure. She heard Leliana take her leave, and then Cassandra's hand was on her shoulder.

"I wish you would have let me go in to speak with them instead of you," Cassandra said.

"I know." Zanneth took another deep breath, counting as she breathed out to calm herself. When she was sure she would have a steady voice, she continued. "But I need to face this. It is natural. I just want to sort it out."

"It sounds like unnecessary torture to me," the Seeker said.

"She's not going anywhere, Cassandra." Zanneth turned around to look up into Cassandra's honey-brown eyes. "Those children will just grow and grow until they are old enough to run around. They are arcane warriors, wielding the power of the Fade within them. This is a heritage of my own people, Cassandra. And… I like children. I don't want to come to hate the sight of children simply because I was denied my own child."

Cassandra lifted a hand, gently touching Zanneth's cheek. There, along her jawline, was a pink scar: a permanent reminder of the attack on the Herald. It also, unbeknownst to anyone but Cassandra and The Iron Bull, was the night she lost her pregnancy. The father had been Sinna, lost at the Temple of Sacred Ashes when the Conclave exploded; a loss she still could not actually remember. Also lost were her clan's First, Relarian, and Zanneth's younger brother, Hyune. She ached for Hyune, though the ache had been duller of late.

What ached more now, of course, was the loss of the child she never met. The child she did not wish to have. The child she desperately wished she were large with right now. The child she would have had in a matter of months if she had not miscarried.

"How can I mourn something I did not want?" she whispered now.

"It was the last vestige of your old life, _ma vhenan_ ," Cassandra said, using one of Zanneth's own choice phrases. "You are not a monster for wishing to hold on to that, nor for wondering what life might have been like had tragedy not befallen you. Even if, ultimately, you did not want to bear the burden of a fatherless child."

Tears welled once more, and this time Zanneth was not so quick to wipe them away. "I do not regret _you_ , Cassandra," she said. "I do not wish _you_ never happened."

The Seeker just smiled. "I know, dear one. I wish it had not all happened the way it did, for a multitude of reasons. But I am, at the same time, glad I came to know you, to love you. It is okay for both of these to exist simultaneously."

"It is a paradox and it is uncomfortable."

"The discomfort dissipates. The truth remains."

"And what is the truth?" Zanneth asked, leaning into the touch that persisted at her cheek.

"The _truth_ is that you regret all that has happened: all the deaths, the Anchor, the loss of your child. The _truth_ is also that you are glad you could keep the Anchor from Corypheus, and you are glad you came to know and love me, despite all that must have come to pass in order for those to happen. That they are at odds does not make them untrue."

Zanneth smiled, sniffled, and nodded. "Yes. That is the truth." Straightening, she wiped at her eyes. "How is it you know this so well? You can see down into the core of a situation and see what is there as if it were laid bare."

"I am not always so good at it. I accused _you_ of opening the Breach, remember? But I have been trained to find the truth wherever I seek it. And I have become rather attuned to _you_ , my love." Cassandra stepped closer, wrapping an arm around Zanneth's waist and pulling her into an embrace. "Now. Let us prepare for our departure tomorrow."

Nodding, Zanneth let herself be directed toward the horses to begin packing for their return trip to Skyhold in the morning.

* * *

Cassandra rode silently beside Zanneth. They had set out from the semi-permanent camp surrounding Revka and her new children only two or three hours before. Their horses moved at a swift canter, eating up the miles between the camp and the start of the path through the mountains to Skyhold. Barring disastrous weather, they should be back in Skyhold before supper. This time tomorrow, they would be well on their return trip with supplies and soldiers to help protect the Inquisition's advisors while Revka recovered.

She did not think much on the birth of the babies. Cassandra was more than forty years old now; she had seen the addition of many children to the world, and even watched many of them grow. They were an enigma, but one she did not wish to crack. One day, these children would be old enough to speak with, to start exercise and arms training. Then they would be her purview.

The Seeker was far more concerned with the magical nature of the children. They had not yet exhibited signs of being arcane warriors – except, of course, for their pure-white hair – but it was only a matter of time. What then? Did Solona know enough to teach them? To control them if they faltered?

Could an arcane warrior even become possessed?

 _I will need to speak at length to Solona about this. I do not want to control her like Ferelden's templars once did, but misinformation breeds fear. Fear is dangerous. Fear leads people to kill that which they do not understand. And I cannot say I have never wished to strike first, before knowing what it is I face. We should_ _ **all**_ _gain a greater understanding, and not just of Solona's brand of magic._

Solona did not accompany them to Skyhold. Cassandra had thought that perhaps she might, but she chose to stay with her sister. The party on the road comprised of Zanneth, Varric, Lady Vivienne, Solas, Sera, Bull, Dorian, and Cassandra herself: the Inner Circle, as they had come to be called. Lady Vivienne had considered _not_ traveling with the Herald, to stay with Revka and the others. But a quick word from Bull had reminded her that she would protect Zanneth at every opportunity. Everyone else had remembered this vow without prompting.

"Seeker."

Cassandra looked up to see Solas had steered his horse near her, breaking her reverie. "Yes?"

"I had a question for you, if you do not mind."

Cassandra knit her brows. "Out with it."

"You initially believed the Inquisitor was involved in the attack at the Conclave, yes?"

"I did, yes. The evidence seemed damning, given the lack of an alternative."

"Yet… you changed your mind."

"You also heard the voices at the Temple," Cassandra said, glancing over at him. "Is it so surprising I listened to them?"

"Sadly, yes," Solas answered. "Too few invested with authority possess the courage to alter their course. They fear the _appearance_ of weakness."

Cassandra scoffed. "The _truth_ is more important than my reputation. And anyone who wishes to accuse me of being weak is welcome to _try_."

"Ha ha!" Bull nearly shouted. "Good one, Seeker!"

Cassandra couldn't help a slight grin, immediately frowning when she heard Dorian and Sera begin to chortle along with Bull. _Maker help me…_

A shiver suddenly traveled down Cassandra's back. Almost at the same moment, her horse bucked, and then she was flying through the air. For a timeless moment she was suspended, not knowing what she saw or even which direction was _up_. She'd heard something. A _whizzing_ sound right before a _thunk_. She saw blood mixed with chestnut fur, and the feathers of an arrow, right before she hit the ground. Then pain exploded behind her head, and the world was black.

When she came to, she found her hands tied. The world was still dark, but when she moved her head, she felt the barest scrape of cloth. _A sack over my head, perhaps?_ she thought. She could feel the sun's warmth on her skin, meaning it was still day. She struggled against her bonds.

And was rewarded with a _hard_ smack to the back of her head, already quite sore from hitting it upon the rocks. Red and heat exploded behind her eyes, and her world threatened to slip into unconsciousness once more.

"Untie me!" she demanded. She felt as though there were cotton in her ears.

"Shut it, _Inquisition_ ," a deep voice snarled. It had an odd lilt to it, one she was not familiar with.

Cassandra quieted, taking stock. She was seated on the ground, leaned against something hard. Her hands were tied behind her back, and she had a sack over her head to block her vision. Her weapons had been taken, even the knife in her boot – she could feel its absence when she flexed her calf. She thought she felt other warm bodies to each side of her, but it was difficult to tell without movement. More of which would likely earn her another smack upside the head, which might in turn send her reeling into unconsciousness. She could not afford that when she did not even know what was happening or who held them.

She needed more information, especially on Zanneth.

So she waited.

It didn't take long for more groans to rise in the air around her. One of them was _definitely_ Zanneth's, farther away than Cassandra liked.

Then the deep voice boomed once more. "Inquisitor! Know that you have been taken to raise the glory of our god! Your sacrifice will pave the path for war, and Hakkon will rise once more in a shower of your blood!"


	17. Infiltrators

Bethany stood at the open door, eyeing the solitary bed in the room. It had enough room for two… but it would be a tight fit.

"Is everything all right?"

Bethany turned to see the leader of these wardens, Faris, looking questioningly to her from the hall. He had barely questioned them, offered the lovely couple a room to share, and fed them. Now she stood at the threshold of that room. Blackwall was already inside.

"No, no! Nothing's wrong. Thank you for the welcome, ser," she said, smiling.

"Not at all," Faris said, smiling. "Come see us for the evening meal. I'll… understand if we won't see you until then." He winked as he added, "I imagine it's the first real bed you've seen in a while, eh?" He turned and left.

Bethany shuddered, not sure whether it was in disgust at Faris's suggestions or in anticipation of their possibility, and shut the door.

"Just _what_ were you thinking?" she demanded, whirling around.

Blackwall stood with his cheeks red. "I- it seemed a more plausible tale to me, my Lady."

"None of that 'my Lady' drivel. Why would you change the plan on me like that?!"

Blackwall reached up to scratch his beard. "Because, _Bethany_. They didn't ask any questions. The first rule to combat is to never give anything away. The same with infiltration. Let the enemy assume what they like, and get _them_ to tell you your story if at all possible."

Bethany pursed her lips in displeasure.

"I… I will sleep on the floor with my travel roll," Blackwall said, looking just as apologetic as he sounded. "I'm sorry for springing this on you. I had no time to check with you first, but that does not excuse it."

Bethany scowled, but finally placed her pack on the bed. "It's… not a _terrible_ idea. They don't generally like you becoming lovers with other wardens, after all."

He nodded.

Bethany knew _why_ , of course. While it made sense to love another warden on the outside – become lovers with someone else who knew your life, who _lived_ your life – it was dangerous. What if you were sent on different missions? What if one of you was forced to sacrifice the other to save the group? What if you had a falling out and everyone around you was forced to deal with your hatred of each other? Terrible for unit cohesion, all of it.

But it still happened plenty. And it always went horribly.

Blackwall moved to his pack and began untying his bedroll.

"No," Bethany said.

He stopped, looking up. "Pardon?"

"It'll be a bit obvious, don't you think?" Bethany reasoned, all while fighting the flush slowly creeping from her cheeks down to her throat. "I mean, they won't necessarily be coming in here unannounced, but if we're going to try to fool them until the others come, then we should play the part as true as we can, shouldn't we?"

It was Blackwall's turn to blush. "Makes sense," he gruffed.

Bethany nodded, then turned and headed for the window and the cool air it provided. "Perhaps… we can ask where to find firewood?"

"I can do that. There's a wooden tub behind this screen here. Needs a scrubbing, but…"

"I can do that," Bethany offered. "I can also fill it with hot water easily enough."

"You can?"

Bethany turned, raising an eyebrow. "Magic, remember?"

"Oh. Right. Of course. I'll just go be the lumbering idiot now and haul heavy things in here."

Bethany giggled, her earlier embarrassment forgotten for the moment.

"What?" He looked uncertain.

"Lumbering idiot while you haul lumber?"

Blackwall chuckled. "Right. Wasn't even on purpose." They both sobered after a moment, and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Right. I'll… just go get that wood, then."

"And B- Frederic?" Bethany called as the door opened.

"Yes?" he asked, pausing at the door. Behind him, through the now-open door, Bethany could see the woman who had marched out to greet them before. She was watching curiously.

 _This… was not how I wanted to do this_ , Bethany thought, but forced herself forward. Reaching up, she slinked one and then the other hand up around his neck, burying it in his hair, and pulled him down so she could whisper in his ear.

"This is the bed you made; now you must lie in it. We need to pretend we're _close_. Stop being a damn gentleman unless we're in here with the door shut." Then she pulled back just enough to cover his lips with hers. He was stiff for a moment, wooden and sluggish, until she tightened her grip in his hair and gave it a quick yank. He finally responded, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her tight.

Kissing around all that beard took a moment, but then Blackwall's lips found hers, and his mouth was wet and warm and a little sloppy, but he smelled so good and _strong_ , and his arms around her waist made her head spin. She managed to pull herself away just as she thought she might be feeling the evidence of his arousal. Probably her imagination.

"Hurry back," she managed to croak for the benefit of her audience, then turned and went inside. She heard the door shut behind her. The room felt empty, but she didn't trust herself to turn and check right away. She was shaky, her hands trembled, and her loins pulsed with seemingly all the blood in her body.

Finally, Bethany went to the bathtub, taking up the scrub brush and whispering the words to conjure some water. A brick of soap lay on a low table next to the tub. Soaping up the brush, she got to work. It would be nice to scrub off the road dust once the tub was cleaned out. And if Blackwall took his time obtaining firewood… then perhaps she could take care of this little problem he left her with.

* * *

Blackwall did indeed take more time than was necessary to return. So long, in fact, that Bethany had bathed, taken care of her aching loins, washed and hung her uniform to dry, and gotten dressed in her extra homespun travel clothes – _without_ her warden tabard, as she saw no reason for it inside this fortress.

She flinched in surprise as Blackwall kicked open the door. In his arms he carried logs of all sizes, and he was sweating and red-faced.

"Maker, you took the time to cut the wood, didn't you?" Bethany said, wondrous.

"It needed doing. I did more than just ours, though. Seemed only right, since they're putting us up."

"We're planning to raid them and take them prisoner, Blackwall," Bethany said, checking the door was closed.

"Yes, I know that. But if we're to play the part, then…" His skin flushed again, but he continued stacking wood inside the fireplace, over a good-sized pile of kindling. After a moment, he looked around. "Do you have flint?"

Bethany gave him a sardonic look, said a few words for the proper spell, and suddenly the wood was aflame.

Blackwall started in surprise before chuckling. "It's going to take me a while to get used to that." He got back to his feet. "I'll go get another armload, and that should keep us heated in here until morning."

He returned quickly. Bethany sat on the edge of the bed, looking over the journal she kept from time to time. The last entry was from Isabela's ship, weeks earlier. A lot, and yet not much, had happened since then. She considered writing, then thought better of it. Writing was such a messy prospect, what with quill and ink, or dirtied fingers from charcoal. Besides. She was supposed to be giving the impression she and Blackwall were about to engage the afternoon in illicit activities.

Just the thought had her blushing furiously again.

Blackwall returned and dumped the wood to prepare it for stacking.

"I'll do that," Bethany said. "Why don't you go bathe? I can get you fresh water-"

"It's all right, I'm sure," he said. "Thank you." Then he was behind the screen, humming low in his throat. She tried not to listen to the sounds of his clothes hitting the floor, nor of him moving in the water. When he began splashing in earnest, she knew he was washing his clothes, and the image of what he might look like, naked and clean, squatting over the tub and cleaning his clothing, was more distracting than she cared to admit.

When he left the tub and its privacy screen, Bethany pretended to be asleep on the bed. She didn't know why, but she just… couldn't face him. It was so much more intimidating when it was just the two of them than when someone was watching. And, in the grand scheme of things, she really didn't know him well at all, so why did he do this to her? Why did he pin her with this farce?

She liked him. A _lot_. She wanted to bed him. But she also appreciated his mind, and his manners. She enjoyed speaking with him, and joking with him, and flirting with him.

And _Maker above_ she shouldn't be thinking about these things! She needed to focus on the mission: they needed to find out what these wardens were doing here, and what Clarel was up to.

Clarel was a conundrum. Recalling all wardens to Orlais was unheard of. Weisshaupt, perhaps, but Orlais? There _were_ several warden strongholds in Orlais, near known tunnels into the Deep Roads. With this fake Calling, it made sense the wardens would start running around like headless chickens. It was completely unprecedented to all hear the Calling simultaneously. Which meant no one would know what to do.

The wardens – Clarel – were making this up as they went along, much like children.

Bethany wasn't sure when she actually fell asleep amidst these thoughts, but she must have actually drifted off, because suddenly Blackwall was shaking her gently awake.

"We just got the call for supper," he was saying. Bethany opened her eyes to see Blackwall's smiling beard above her. The light through the window made it clear the sun was setting.

"We should close the shutters to keep out the cold," she said, sitting up and blinking rapidly a few times to clear her eyes. She was a little disoriented with sleep.

Chuckling, Blackwall got to his feet and closed them.

"What?"

"You snore," Blackwall said, still chuckling as he fished a candle out of a bundle they'd brought inside with them. Lighting it at the fire, he set it in one of the ancient-looking stone candleholders on the windowsill.

"I do not!" Bethany exclaimed, her cheeks heating a little.

"Aye, you do. Just a little. Very delicate. Ladylike, even." He grinned, and winked.

Bethany grimaced. She'd been told as much by Isabela and Damian, but she'd always assumed they were having her on, taking the piss out of her. She hadn't actually thought they had – for once! – been telling her the truth.

"Oh, it's charming," Blackwall said. "Darling, if I'm being honest. Just… unexpected."

Bethany tried to frown, but only smiled, small and quiet. "Come on," she said, pulling herself to the edge of the bed and pulling on her boots. "You said it was time for supper."

His face lost all trace of levity. "Aye. Time to see if we can find some answers."

They left their room a few moments later.

* * *

Bethany wandered away from where the stew was being handed out. She tried very hard not to think about the fact that this food had been stolen from those people from the village of Crestwood, whom she had patched up and helped to feed. These wardens had _stolen_ from those people. That was _not_ the way of her Order.

Blackwall had taken a seat with Faris around one of the two large fires. Another warden was with him, but everyone else either sat around the other fire, or spread themselves throughout the courtyard. She moved next to Blackwall, making sure to get uncomfortably close. They were playing at lovers, after all.

"I'm told no one heard a peep from your room all afternoon," Faris said by way of greeting.

Bethany blushed furiously, thankful for the bite of stew she'd just taken to give her a moment to step into her role.

"Yes, well. You know," Blackwall started, not blushing, but neither actually _saying_ anything.

"Got used to keeping quiet," Bethany supplied.

Faris immediately looked peeved. "I always hated that rule. Can't one of the benefits of being barren as wardens be that we can love whom and however we like?" He shook his head. "Shit like that is why we left when the call came."

Bethany's heart hammered in her chest, but when she looked to her hands she was pleased to see they did not shake. Just in case, she held her spoon away from her bowl so it did not rattle. This was it. Time to get the information they needed.

"The call to Orlais?" Bethany tried to clarify.

"Yes. Clarel recalled us, but we refused."

"Forgive my saying so," Blackwall said, "but aren't you of the Orlesian Order?"

Faris smiled. "Yes, we are. When the orders came to converge on Adamant, I refused. My company came with me almost to a man. We came east, figuring the farther away from the rest of them the better. Winter stopped us here."

Bethany knit her brows a moment before speaking. "I apologize if I seem obtuse, but… why? Why not go to Adamant?"

"Why did you not?" Faris countered. Bethany looked to Blackwall, hoping that was answer enough. "Exactly," the Orlesian commander continued. "With the blighted Call heard by all of us, everyone's days are numbered. I'm not going into the Deep Roads on some suicide mission. I want to spend my last days doing what I like. When my mind goes, my brothers have promised to end it for me. I was conscripted; I didn't volunteer for this. I'm not giving my life to take the wretched Darkspawn with me. I aim to eek out everything I can from my life while I still have it. If Clarel has a problem with that, she can come find me and tell me so herself."

Bethany blinked a moment, then nodded. She had nothing more to say. This was a case of simple desertion. She did seethe inwardly, however. She didn't have a choice in her taking the Grey, either, but her solution was not to displace an entire village in the dead of winter.

Finishing her stew, she pardoned herself early, ostensibly for bed. Blackwall made conversation for a time. She was outside the wall before he returned to their chambers.

* * *

Hawke stood in the shadows at the edge of the wood. Again, there were wardens on watch, but these were less disciplined than the evening before. They did not ruin their night vision, but neither were they actually looking out for anything. If they had been, they would see the figure in black skirting the few trees from the bluffs to the wood.

"Bethy?" she whispered as the figure came close.

In answer, a firm grip encircled her arm, and the two of them retreated into the woods.

"There is a gate at the bottom of the cliff," Bethany said as soon as they stopped.

Damian narrowed her eyes. "And?"

"I can't unlock it without anyone noticing," Bethany continued, shaking her head. Damian knew what that meant. Bethany could explode the gate with magic but that would most assuredly blow her cover before she was reinforced. "I'm sure Isabela could, however."

"Of course she could. Hasn't met a lock she couldn't eventually coax open," Hawke said.

"That sounded remarkably sexual," Bethany noted.

Damian grinned. "She also hasn't met a woman who legs she couldn't coax open."

"There it is." Bethany smirked. "And that's a lie. Aveline never did take to her bed. Or anything else Isabela likes to be bent over."

"True," Hawke conceded. "So. What's with these wardens? What's their story?"

Bethany sighed. "Straight-up desertion."

"That's it?" At Bethany's nod, Damian shook her head. "That's boring."

Bethany snorted a laugh.

"Right cunts, then," Damian continued. "They desert, displace a village, and take all their food?"

"That about sums it up," Bethany said. "Pisses me off. Wardens aren't supposed to do this kind of thing. It's…"

"Frightfully common of them," Damian said. "Common thugs."

"Yes. We're not supposed to act like common thugs. We help people. We kill Darkspawn. We stop Blights. We don't do _this_."

"So what do you propose we do about it?"

Bethany pushed away from the tree she'd been leaning against. "The same thing they did to Crestwood: we oust them. You and Isabela get people in through that gate. Between the Inquisition soldiers and those villagers who can still fight, it shouldn't be a difficult thing."

"I agree," Damian said, nodding. "And the sooner the better. I'll go back for them and we'll strike just before dawn. The less time we leave you and Blackwall in there, the better. Don't want you found out." She considered her sister for a moment. "How is it with him in there?"

Bethany grew uncharacteristically hesitant. "It's… fine."

"Oh ho, not so fast. What does that mean?"

A sigh. "Blackwall pulled a fast one on me and let them all think we're _lovers_. So now we're sharing quarters and there's a whole lot of waggling eyebrows and people elbowing each other when we walk by."

Damian snickered. "Oh, this is such a missed opportunity…"

"Damian, keep on track," Bethany said, clearly annoyed. Damian just kept snickering. "Listen, sister. There's a path that leads down to the gate, but it's clearly visible to the guards. Even those piss-poor excuses for guards up there. I shimmied up the bluff some ways away from the path. You're going to have to take people down to the gate who can climb."

"Right. So, not _me_ , then," Damian said, biting her lip. No way she could sneak down a cliff face unnoticed with her giant weapon. It was never one of her strong suits. If it hadn't been for Bethany's preference, she would have chosen the mercenary captain over Athenril back in Kirkwall. As it was, she was hired muscle for the smuggler, never once participating in a stakeout or other piece of subterfuge.

Bethany giggled quietly. "Indeed. Not you. You and Oghren and anyone else who can't climb should wait in the trees until I've opened the gate for you."

"Sounds like a plan," Damian nodded. "I'll go get the others. Try to get some sleep, but be awake before dawn."

"Will do. Sister?"

Damian turned to face Bethany. "Yes?"

"Good luck."

Damian smiled and threw her sister a wink. "I do love me a bit of mayhem, Bethy."

A chuckle, and then Bethany was gone. Damian followed her lead, setting up a swift jog back to her horse. She would not be getting any sleep this night, but by morning they would have a whole keep in which to set up their bedrolls. Much better accommodations than the cave they were currently staying in. She might even get to take a bath.

* * *

 _Author's Note: Hello hello hello! I'm back! Sort of... I don't know if I'm back for good or back for a few chapters. I gave birth six weeks ago and in between feeding two hungry infants and trying to get some sleep, I've felt the urge to write again. Something I haven't had the motivation to do throughout the **entire** pregnancy. So I've decided to go with it. I've missed it. I feel like fanfiction is an excellent way to ease back into writing._

 _It's been a fucking while, hasn't it? Like 10 months, I think? I went back and re-read everything I'd published up until this point just to remind myself of all the things I'd been planning. It helped a LOT. One thing that struck me is that my own delivery went surprisingly a lot like Revka's. Minus the emergency c-section - mine was elective - and I had two girls. But I had one vertex and one breech twin, they came a bit early but not dangerously so, and and I had an excellent medical team that took very, very good care of me. I didn't know I would eventually have twins when I wrote all that. I'm astounded at how it all ended up. Weird, isn't it?_

 _Anyway, I'll quite my sleep-deprived ramblings. I hope you liked this chapter, and here's to easing back into publishing this epic fic!_


	18. Disappearance

Leliana's suspicions began after sunset of the second day fell with no sign of reinforcements. She sent out scouts, but they returned with nothing. Finally, she wrote Skyhold and sent one of her pigeons with the message. A few hours later, a hawk came back with Cauthrien's answer: the Inquisitor never arrived in Skyhold.

Leliana frowned and left her wagon of birds, going to join Solona in their tent. As she entered, she could see light coming from Cullen and Revka's tent. Josie had kicked Cullen out to go get some sleep, as he had not slept for two days in his need to care for Revka and their children. They needed a sharp commander, and he needed not to drop his children in his exhaustion. Leliana had done the same to Solona, who now lay in their tent. She could tell by the slight rumble when she reached out and touched Solona's chest that she gently snored.

Grimacing, Leliana gave the mage a soft shake. Solona's eyes popped open instantly.

 _{What is it?}_ she signed, visible to Leliana in the light of their single candle.

"I heard back from Cauthrien."

Solona sat up. _{Yes?}_

Leliana heaved a sigh. "The Inquisitor did not show in Skyhold. Cauthrien is sending reinforcements to us, and sending out a search party."

Solona pursed her lips before signing her answer. _{Well, shit.}_

Leliana giggled. "Yes. _Dommage_."

 _{I imagine you'll need to get back to Skyhold sooner rather than later?}_

"Yes. I'll leave at first light. Josie, too, should come. And Cullen."

 _{Cullen can't leave Revka, Leliana.}_

Sighing, Leliana shook her head. "He must. He is our commander. I know Revka just gave birth. She'll have _you_. Without our Inquisitor, we need every other person in a leadership position in Skyhold. Troops and supplies from our fickle Orlesian allies will begin to trickle in. We must offer a united front with the Inquisitor missing."

Solona was silent. Leliana could feel the anger wafting off of her. But the spymaster knew she was right, and she would not apologize for it. She was not unsympathetic to Cullen and Revka, but this was bigger than them. She was not asking Revka to be left alone without any family, and she was not asking Revka to be separated from babies who needed her for sustenance of the body and spirit.

Finally, Solona spoke. _{Fine. But_ _ **you**_ _tell them they must be apart. I won't do it.}_ Then she turned over and laid back down. Leliana sighed deeply. It hurt to have Solona angry with her, but the anger was fair. It was a shit situation all around. She was worried. They were so recently nearly decimated in Haven and had so much to lose. Why was the Inquisitor missing? What had happened to her? How had all of them been bested, and by what?

Too many questions without answers. She needed to be back in Skyhold as soon as possible. Removing her vestments, Leliana laid down next to her lover, trying to quiet her mind. She needed some sleep so she could attack this problem fresh in the morning.

* * *

Cauthrien stood on the battlements of Skyhold. The sun had set behind the mountain peaks, leaving the world bathed in rose and gold. Coming up the path were several horses and a carriage. She couldn't yet make out who made up the party, but she knew her commander would be one of them. So, too, would Josephine – at least, she fervently hoped so.

The intervening weeks had passed without consequence. Cauthrien had not yet heard from Hawke about Crestwood, but the party would likely have barely arrived there. Crestwood was a large region; they needed some time to scout it out.

Skyhold had been quiet under her command. The promised troops and supplies from Orlais, secured during the masquerade, had not yet begun to arrive, making Cauthrien's job of training recruits simple. The days had routine.

Routine broken by the missive from Leliana arriving in the dead of night. The Inquisitor was missing. What was to be done?

The party came closer, and Cauthrien could now seen Cullen's outline clearly against the golden sky. It was hard to miss, what with his halved left arm and the curls atop his head. Her heart panged for him, to have to leave his wife and his new children so soon after their birth. But she quietly admired his resolve; Skyhold needed its commander now more than ever. Personal sacrifices must be made when one was in command. At least his sacrifice left his family safe in the hands of those he could trust.

The knight made her way down the stairs to the courtyard as the party crossed over the bridge. Still on the steps, she watched as the carriage door opened and out came Leliana, followed closely by Josephine. The ambassador immediately looked around, smiling when her eyes landed upon Cauthrien. Aisling's heart skipped a beat at the sight. It had been nearly three weeks since they had seen each other, the longest they'd gone since they began courting. It was perhaps a little pathetic, but she was glad to see her lover. She had been worried.

Josephine was in her arms as soon as her feet left the steps. Caution thrown to the wind, they shared a passionate kiss before Josephine seemed to remember herself. As she pulled back, Cauthrien looked up to catch Leliana's lips pulled back in a small smile. _Having Solona back this winter really has softened her_ , she thought to herself. She knew Leliana was not the same warm, soft-hearted woman who had presented herself at the king's court, but still she saw that the Leliana of the days of the Blight was in residence as much as the cold-hearted – and necessarily so – spymaster. Likely, the spymaster had been within her all along, but unneeded had gone dormant.

"You made good time," Cauthrien said by way of greeting. "That carriage wouldn't make it up the mountain nearly as quickly as someone on horseback."

Josephine nodded. "Yes. We left before the sun was up."

"Did you see Kremesius and the Chargers on your way?"

It was Cullen who answered. "Yes. We spoke briefly and then continued on." He met Cauthrien's eyes a moment before he added, "Thank you, Ser Cauthrien. I feel much better with him and his men watching my family while my wife heals. If I cannot be there for her…"

"It is no problem," she said, briefly shaking his outstretched hand. "They were happy to have an assignment beyond the walls of Skyhold, truth be told." She took in the travel-weary group. "I imagine you'll want to bathe and refresh yourselves before we convene in the war room?"

"Alas, we cannot." This was Leliana. "Our Inquisitor is missing. We must strategize immediately."

Ten minutes later – long enough to stable the horses and grab a wineskin – she found herself in the war room with Josephine, Cullen, and Leliana.

"You have sent out a search party?" Cullen asked her without preamble.

She nodded. "Yes. They returned this morning with signs of a struggle. They marked the trail for a few miles before turning back and reporting to Skyhold."

"And where was this struggle?"

"In the foothills at the base of the mountains, just a few hours' ride from the castle," Cauthrien answered.

"Good, good." Cullen scratched the growing beard on his chin. Poor man hadn't been able to shave since leaving the Winter Palace, more than likely. "I want you to take a party out yourself. Scouts and mounted infantry. We must find our Inquisitor. If that group with the Inquisitor was taken unawares… a party of only scouts will not be up to the challenge if they are also ambushed. Heavy mounted infantry can withstand an attack, saving our precious scouts. We have little enough of those trained."

"Aisling…" Josephine began, trailing off while giving her a look of concern.

"I itch to do something more than train troops," the second-in-command began, but nonetheless her heart had fallen. A single night with Josie, and then who knew how long outside the gates… _This is the sacrifice of service_ , she reminded herself. She would serve, despite the personal sacrifice. If Cullen could leave his wife and newborn children to come back to his command, then she could leave her lover. She stood up straighter at the thought.

"Excellent idea," Leliana said, nodding as her eyes flicked to the maps of Ferelden and Orlais in front of them. "I will send you with a raven so you can keep in contact."

Cauthrien approved. While larger birds of prey the spymaster kept were intelligent enough to track someone they knew, they required a handler who knew what they were doing. Cauthrien had no such specialized knowledge. A raven required only the initial training, though was less robust and not as intelligent as the hawks and falcons the spymaster also kept. It would only be able to go back to Skyhold, but Cauthrien would be able to care for it and send it once she had news.

"You should leave as soon as possible," Cullen began, then his eyes landed on Josephine's face, which had fallen even further. "On second thought, rest well tonight, Cauthrien. Select your team and have them ready to leave before first light. It might be some time before you see Skyhold again."

Aisling held back a smile. "Yes, Commander." She and Josie would get at least one night before she must leave. She vowed to make the most of it.

"If that is all," Leliana said, "I need to get back to the rookery and check in with my agents. I will see you off at first light." Cauthrien did not miss the wink Leliana threw Josephine, who blushed furiously in response. Then they disbanded, and Josie dragged Cauthrien to their rooms for some privacy.

* * *

Josephine groaned softly in her sleep as Aisling extricated herself. At the last moment, a dark-skinned hand tightened its grip upon the knight's thigh, and when Cauthrien looked back to her lover's face, she saw the woman's eyes open in the low light from their fire.

"Must you go already?"

Aisling smiled and slipped back into bed. "I can afford a few more minutes, since I was not successful in my attempt to not wake you."

Josephine settled into her embrace. "I did not sleep well," she said.

Cauthrien hummed her understanding. "Thinking on what happened at Halamshiral?"

The head tucked beneath her chin nodded.

"It must still terrify you, how close you came." Truly, it made Aisling's blood boil to think of how close _she_ came to losing Josie. Not to mention the contract on her life.

"That is not what keeps me awake," Josephine said. "It is that I so easily killed him. He was not just any man, but a trained assassin, for the House of Repose! I promised myself long ago that I would seek every solution before violence, and yet when it came down to it, the violence was there, just beneath the surface. And very… _effective_. It horrifies me that it is there, and so close at hand. I thought I had rid myself of these tendencies, but as it turns out I only buried it, and not well at that."

"Violence is sometimes the only answer left us, Josie," Aisling said, trying to be reassuring. "He left you no choice. You would be dead now if you had tried to talk him out of it. And, I confess, I am truly happy you were the one to succeed, and not him." At the last, Aisling hugged Josephine more tightly to her.

Josephine said nothing for a minute or more, merely melting into the knight's embrace, before she suddenly blurted, "I love you, Aisling."

"I…"

"You need not respond in kind. It is early yet. But you must come back to me, so that we might see where this romance takes us." Dark eyes stared up at her in the rapidly lightening room. The sun was rising outside the closed shutters. Aisiling needed to leave.

"I… I promise," Cauthrien said, sealing it with a kiss. Then she was rushing throughout the room, pulling on her Inquisition uniform before hurrying out the door and to her waiting troops. In her hands she clutched her lady's favor: a silk scarf, gold in color. She tied it about her arm, and then she was gone, through the gates of Skyhold and out into the chill of perpetual winter that did not know it was spring.

As she rounded a bend, she looked back, her heart skipping when she thought she saw Josephine's face in their window. Then she rounded the bend, and the image, real or imagined, was gone.

* * *

Six days in the saddle was not doing good things for Ser Cauthrien's back. She was not a spry girl of twenty anymore. She had finally relented that morning and taken the Summer Sword from her shoulders, strapping it to her saddle instead. It had helped some.

The landscape was changing dramatically. It was unseasonably warm, even for spring, even this far south. Her cloak had come off, and she'd traded her heavy leather gloves for light ones. The wool stockings she wore in her boots would have been next if wearing boots without stockings did not cause furious blistering.

The trees were larger than she'd ever seen. They had felled two nugs bigger than should be allowed the night before; they had fed all fifteen of them and even left some meat to be stirred into porridge that morning. The fish in the river were large, the hares that sped by would put a small hound to shame, and the smallest songbird she'd seen was the size of a hawk.

Something was very strange about this place.

To combat the eerie feeling Cauthrien kept getting along the nape of her neck, she sent her scouts out hourly, having them return and report before going ahead of them again. It slowed the party down, but it was better to be safe. The Inquisitor had three mages, several seasoned warriors, and the trickiest of imps – Sera – Cauthrien had ever met. On top of that, the Inquisitor herself was a skilled Dalish huntress. _That_ party was taken unawares. The only advantage Cauthrien and those with her had was their caution.

They followed signs of a wagon at first, being pulled by some monstrous, hooved beast. The day before they stumbled across the telltale signs of a Fade rift. There was no telling if it had been closed, as the things were not static. Now they followed footsteps. She felt in her heart that they were getting very close. They only needed to push on a few more hours, she knew it.

A flash of light and a battle cry rent the air, and suddenly Cauthrien was in the middle of a fierce battle. Figures wearing black and white darted from the monstrous trees, their weapons glowing with some unholy blue light. Aisling jumped from her horse, pulled her sword, and swatted its rump to get it running from the battle. Then she rushed into the fray.

Her opponent was gigantic. Seven feet tall, wielding a glowing hammer much like The Iron Bull's. As Aisling moved out of the weapon's path, she was grateful for the winter she'd spent sparring with the qunari. She brought her sword to bear as she sidestepped the hammer once more, and the giant she fought was suddenly spurting blood from his ribs.

 _They wear no armor?!_ The thought horrified her.

He cried out in pain, but it only seemed to feed his rage. Roaring a wordless battle cry, the man brought the hammer down with all his speed and might, Cauthrien barely able to get out of its way. Before she could recover, his fist met her face, and as her back hit the ground and the black overtook her vision, her mind's eye went to Josephine's face.

 _I should have told her I feel the same._

* * *

Cauthrien started awake.

"Good of you to join us, Commander! Or is it Second-In-Commander?"

Cauthrien blinked rapidly. "Varric?"

His face came into focus in a grin. "Yes! Good to see your memory's intact! You took quite the blow to the head, from what we can tell."

Aisling looked around. There were… giant leaves? Large, sprawling braches surrounded her. She appeared to be on a bedroll spread out on a wooden platform.

"Are we up in a tree?"

"Yes," Varric said, nodding sagely. "I may be a dwarf who isn't afraid of the surface, but let me tell you, dwarves weren't _made_ for being up this high. Thank the Maker for stairs. And not being able to see the ground for the leaves."

"Thank the Maker…" Cauthrien trailed off, looking around. When she tried to fully sit, however, her head gave a mighty spike of pain that sent her right back into her bedroll, crying out in the process.

"I'll go get the others," Varric said after pressing a water skin into her hands. Then he was gone.

She didn't have long to wait. Inside a minute, Aisling could hear several sets of footsteps running toward her, some light, some heavy. She tried opening her eyes, but her head split in pain.

"What ails you?" The voice belonged to Solas. Cauthrien hadn't had much chance to speak with him, but she knew it well enough.

"I could open my eyes when I awoke, but now I've tried to sit up, I can't do so without pain."

"What level?"

Her head gave a pointed throb. "Excruciating. Duller with my eyes closed."

"It is not something I can help with magic. It is caused by swelling. You have a nasty concussion, in addition to a broken nose. Drink this." A bitter-tasting concoction was pressed to her lips. A _familiar_ concoction. Aisling drank the pain-relieving potion greedily. "You will feel drunk, but you will recover."

"I am familiar," Aisling said. "I apologize in advance for anything untoward I may say."

"It surely can't be worse than the combination of Bull and Dorian after sharing a wineskin," came Cassandra's voice.

"Did… did you just make a _joke_?" Varric's voice sounded.

"A rare thing, I promise." Now Cassandra sounded positively annoyed.

"Oh ho ho! Wait until I tell Solona!"

"If you wouldn't mind," Solas said pointedly. Then he addressed Aisling. "Ser Cauthrien. Can you open your eyes yet?"

Aisling tried, and she found she could, though nodding sent another jab of pain through her head.

The elf nodded. "Right. _Stay awake_. No wine, no sleep, and stay engaged with others." Then he got to his feet, and he was gone.

"Is he always so sociable?" she asked.

"Every bit," Varric asserted. "He's suffered his own injuries. I'm honestly surprised he was able to do for you what he did. Set your nose and healed it some."

"I see you all have," Aisling said, taking in her companions. Varric and Cassandra she'd known had been there, but she was surprised to see the Inquisitor with them. Every one of them sported some bruise or cut on their faces and forearms, which were exposed likely because of the unseasonable warmth of this place.

"I imagine my men fared just as well as you?"

Cassandra was the one who answered. "You were found alone, Ser Cauthrien."

Aisling's heart fell, but she nodded. She was not close to any of them, but still it hurt to be the only one who survived. "I can only pray they thought me dead and returned to Skyhold without me. Is your party whole?"

"Yes, thank the Creators," Zanneth said, breaking her silence. "Though, as you say, no one escaped unscathed. Our mages had it worst. It is… quite a story."

"I should like to hear it," Aisling said. Then she grinned. "If I listen, then I can't say anything that might embarrass me later. I can already feel the mind-dulling effects taking hold."

"Varric is the storyteller," Zanneth said. "Why don't you tell it?"

"We will stay to make sure he does not embellish too much," Cassandra grumped. Aisling smiled. Try as the Seeker might to continue to dislike Varric, the dwarf seemed to be growing on her. Settling in, she listened intently to the tale.

* * *

 _Zanneth shifts. Her bum is sore. She and her companions have been seated in a wooden wagon for days, blindfolded and bound. Twice a day – before making camp and before breaking camp – she is allowed to go without her bonds so she might relieve herself and drink three gulps of water. If she tries to remove the blindfold, she is struck hard. She learned her lesson the first time. Each time she sleeps or is loaded into the wagon, she is placed between Sera and Varric. She has not known Cassandra's presence in days._

It is better than walking blind _, she reminds herself._ Especially because we have not been fed.

 _It is true. It has been a long time since Zanneth has experienced this kind of hunger. Not since she awoke in the dungeons of Haven has she felt so weak. She needs food, and soon._

 _The most she hears from her companions are grunts. She and Sera risked exchanging a few words near the beginning, heard thanks to their elven ears, but they did not have any information the other did not already possess. They knew nothing of their captors, nothing of the reason they were captured, and had no news even on their companions._

 _Things change on the sixth day. Zanneth knows it immediately, for her hand begins to burn._ A rift is nearby _, she thinks, a rush of adrenaline surging through her. Perhaps she can use this to her advantage?_

 _Soon, the familiar sounds of demons come to her ears. Her captors let loose a war cry, the wagon stops its movement, and Zanneth and her companions can finally speak without being knocked unconscious._

 _Bull is the first. "Dammit, Dorian, why haven't you freed us with your damn magic?! What the fuck good is it if you're not gonna use it?!"_

 _He is answered by silence._

" _Dorian?"_

" _We must break free while we can." Cassandra's voice. It makes Zanneth's heart beat all the harder. "Vivienne, perhaps you can…"_

 _Vivienne also does not answer._

" _Are all th' mages ou'?" Sera asks, and suddenly it makes sense to Zanneth. If their mages had been able, they would already have been released, days ago. Which means their mages are unable. What had their captors been doing to them these many days to keep them incapacitated?_

 _Sounds of battle begin to fade. Then the wagon is moving again. They have lost their chance, and the rift is still open._

 _After only a few minutes, the wagon halts. Having learned their lesson, Zanneth's party remains quiet, lest someone else lose consciousness from a blow to the head. This is highly irregular. Their captors make no sound amongst themselves, also unusual._

 _Then Zanneth hears a gasp. "What?" someone says. Then the Inquisitor suddenly sees the light of day, and it is so bright she can only blink against the sunlight._

 _She barely has time to register the fur-clad people in front of her, however. Her hand still burns. The rift is close enough to sing to the Anchor. It longs to close the tear into the Fade._

" _Lowlanders!" one of the figures calls._

" _Take me to the rift!" Zanneth begs. Her hand hurts her so badly she wishes it would fall off. She's never been this close to a rift for this long without being able to do anything about it._

" _The rift?" the man asks. His chest is bare and if Zanneth judges it right, he is even taller than most men, possibly as tall as The Iron Bull._

" _The rift! Up ahead! Demons pouring out!" She makes a frustrated sound. "I can close it!"_

" _The tears in the sky cannot be closed," the man starts, but Zanneth loses her patience. Her hands are bound, but not her feet. She pushes herself up, jumps past him to the ground, and begins running. His companions look on, momentarily struck dumb by what they see._

" _Follow her, you idiots!" Cassandra yells. "The demons will attack her as soon as she begins to mend the rift! She is the only one who can close it! We cannot lose her!"_

 _Zanneth hears several sets of feet following her, but she does not slow down. She must get to the rift. In her addled, food-deprived mind, it is the only way to stop the pain._

 _She rounds a small hill, and there it is: fat and lazy, gigantic, bright green and pulsing. Several white-and-black painted bodies lay around, clearly the victims of the demons gliding over the ground. Some of them are huge, with weapons the size of the Herald herself. She is beginning to realize her foolishness._

" _Go Boss, I got you covered!"_

 _Zanneth whips her head around to see Bull has joined her._

" _We have no weapons!" she cries._

 _He just grins, lowers his head, roars, and charges the demon closest to him. Behind her, she sees that many of the fur-clad strangers are charging, as well, brandishing fierce-looking weapons of the blackest metal. Cassandra runs behind them, also bound and weaponless like Zanneth and Bull._

 _The elf turns and begins moving once more. She needs to close this rift before Cassandra kills herself protecting the Inquisitor. Not to mention everyone else's safety._

 _Turning to the man from earlier, she holds out her hands as she jogs. "Release me! Please!"_

 _The man slows, nods, pulls a knife from his belt, and her hands are free. He then gives her the knife. Tucking it along her forearm, Zanneth puts on a burst of speed, aiming for the rift, following the clear path Bull leaves for her. Her hand sings and pulses, throbbing, humming its desperation to get close to the rift. Zanneth can actually hear it with her more sensitive ear. Pumping her arms, Zanneth runs as fast as she possibly can, dodging around a lunging demon made of rags and raising her left hand in front of her._

 _It makes contact as soon as it possibly can. Green liquid light arcs between her hand and the rift, and the tear into the Beyond begins to mend._

" _Protect the Inquisitor!" Cassandra cries._

" _The Inquisitor?!"_

" _The one the gods speak of!"_

" _Protect the little one!"_

 _Zanneth barely registers the cries. Her whole left side throbs with pain. This is taking longer than usual. Perhaps because it is so big? She feels the presence of several people at her side, and her ears tell her they catch blows meant for her. But she has no more attention to spare. She wishes to vomit. She wants to pass out. She forgot what it is to do this while so weak._

 _Then, the blessed warmth begins to spread, overtaking the pain and leaving her feeling relieved, if not refreshed. With a great explosion, they are washed in the healing warmth of the green Fade energies, and they are left standing alone, demons gone._

" _Victory!" one of the fur-clad strangers cries, and then several of the giant strangers, men and women alike, surround her, chanting and whooping and hitting her so hard upon the back she nearly falls several times. Bull comes up sporting a cut on his shoulder, and his bonds are cut. He inserts himself between Zanneth and the celebrants, his eye roaming suspiciously._

" _WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!"_

 _The strangers finally quit their chanting, turning almost simultaneously to look at Cassandra, who stands, hands still bound behind her, her face a mix of rage and confusion. Zanneth walks up to her, brings the knife she was given up, and cuts the ropes around her lover's wrists._

" _Are you all right?" she asks._

" _I am fine," Cassandra huffs. "But I would like some answers." She addresses the strangers. "Who is Hakkon? Why did you free us_ _ **now**_ _? You seemed to know who the Inquisitor was days ago when we were captured, and yet now you do not? What is going on?" She looks around her. "And where are my swords?"_

 _The strangers remain jovial. "Yes! Answers! Over a roast boar!" The man who initially spoke to Zanneth and who cut her bonds now begins back toward the wagon, where the rest of their companions are just now on their feet. All except Dorian, Solas, and Vivienne. The mages lay in the back, clearly unconscious._

 _Zanneth runs to them, cuts their bonds, and removes the sacks over their heads. They are unconscious, unable to be woken._

* * *

"What was wrong with them?" Aisling asked. The tale had been told more by Zanneth than by Varric, which surprised the knight but she said nothing. Honestly, she was not sure she had heard so many words spoken by the Inquisitor in one sitting _ever_.

"Drugged," the elf said simply. "It has taken quite a toll on them all, Dorian and Vivienne moreso, I think. But I am told rest, water, and food should bring them all to a swift recovery."

Cauthrien nodded, then furrowed her brows. "So… why did they suddenly let you go?"

"They were not our captors," Cassandra said. She offered nothing else.

Varric sighed before picking up the story. "They're Avvar. They told us over a roasted boar bigger than _me_ that they stumbled on us. They were nearby when they heard the rift, and came running to find our captors – these Jaws of Hakkon, a different clan, as far as I can tell – had all been slaughtered by the demons. They moved us away and were about to question us when our Inquisitor took matters into her own hands."

"I see." Aisling took a sip of water. It was going down more easily now, but the thought of food still made her stomach sour.

"We're on our way to speak with their leader now," Zanneth said. "The Avvar have gone ahead, and will return in the morning for us. We are in the trees at the moment, and well armed. We've had two days to recover. We should be fine."

"So I was only hours behind you?"

"A day perhaps? We needed time to recover, especially Dorian and Vivienne. They've said they'll be up to travel tomorrow. Our horses are long-gone, of course. But our arms were still in the wagon." Zanneth smiled. "Universally valuable."

"Well. I suppose I'm with you for the rest of this journey," Aisling said. "Unless the raven I carried with me somehow survived?"

"Nothing of the like has been found," Cassandra said. "You were alone in a field of the dead, Ser Cauthrien. Not even your horse was nearby. Though, I did recover your weapon," she said, nodding next to the knight. Cauthrien looked and put her hand upon the Summer Sword. Its sheath was with the horse and therefore lost, but the weapon was the important thing. She felt less naked with it here.

"So," Varric said, getting her attention. "Tell us what we missed."

"What?"

"It's been four weeks since we left for the Winter Palace, Ser Cauthrien. What's been going on in Skyhold?"

Cauthrien smiled. This was his way of keeping her awake and talking, she realized. She bid Cassandra and Zanneth a good night and stayed up sharing stories with Varric. He was a good man. She would remember him volunteering to stay up with her like this.

* * *

 _A/N: I hope this satisfies the cliffhanger. Which was long and I'm so, so sorry._

 _Also this was posted unbetad. So if I missed something I apologize._


	19. The Rift in the Lake

_A/N: I tried to post this last night, but the site was down, so it only went up on AO3. Looks like we're good now, though. Enjoy!_

 _Slowly but surely wins the race, right?_

* * *

The attack took place just before dawn.

Bethany went for a stroll, having gotten absolutely no sleep so she might be up at the proper time. Just as the watch shift was changing and everyone awake – those finishing their watch and those just starting – were up in the towers, Bethany slipped into the main courtyard. She unbarred the gate, slipped her head through, and set off the smallest of flashes. It would be invisible to those in the watchtowers, but in the predawn gloom her sister would have no problem seeing it from the trees.

Then Bethany was gone, leaving the gate slightly unbarred and rushing to the nearby lavatory. She wanted to make sure to keep her ruse going as long as possible, and no one would question her using the head.

It was a good thing she'd pretended to relieve herself, as she could see several people passing by the door of her room as they went about their business. Smiling, she thanked herself for remembering to dishevel her hair when she was met with several knowing looks. She smiled sheepishly before slipping inside the room.

She was met with a blade.

"Maker!"

"Sorry," Blackwall said, immediately lowering his weapon. "I was convinced something would go wrong and they'd have you and come for me."

"Take as many out with you as you could? That was the plan, eh?" Bethany raised a brow. "Well, I hope you're not so jumpy in battle. Come on. We need to be ready for when we hear the ruckus. I don't know how long it will take Isabela to unlock the ga-"

She was cut off by the sounds of battle. They exchanged a look, took up their weapons, and rushed through the door.

It was pandemonium outside. Very quickly, she and Blackwall were separated. Neither wore their warden tabards, in case their faces were not recognized in the heat of battle. Bethany saw a man from the village engaged with a warden and quietly lit the warden's boots on fire. Very soon he would be bested, but Bethany was gone before she saw it, busy with her own mission.

"That's right! Come and get me!" came a familiar voice.

There's Isabela! Bethany ran for the door that led to the tunnels under the castle. It was closed, locked. There must have been wardens inside. Summoning her power, Bethany murmured the words, and an explosion rocked the heavy door off its hinges.

"Reinforcements, great!" a warden shouted, but Bethany brought her staff to bear and knocked him cold onto the ground. His compatriot only had time to gawk before Isabela had him in a headlock. Their goal was to keep as many alive as possible, otherwise they would have absolutely no information.

"I could have handled it myself, Sunshine!" Isabela exclaimed, then she was moving past Bethany. The mage stood aside, ushering the other half dozen people Isabela had brought with her through the door and into the courtyard, then she followed.

The main courtyard was where the bulk of the fighting took place, it seemed. It was veritably choked with people locked in combat. Scanning the crowd, Bethany picked out Damian's tall form immediately, holding two wardens wielding magic at bay. She was always fast for someone so tall, Bethany remarked inwardly. Further scrutiny revealed Blackwall had Faris cornered. Bethany began making her way toward him.

She helped dispatch three people on her way, setting fires or pushing people off balance with a spell. Doing any kind of very powerful magic in this kind of a crowd was dangerous, so she focused on healing those she could, keeping herself safe, and aiding someone else's fight in these small but crucial ways. Then she was at Blackwall's side.

"Surrender!" the bearded man shouted.

"I will not go to Orlais!" Faris shouted back, and lunged with his sword. Bethany murmured the words, and he was pushed by a wave of force to the ground. Blackwall darted in to grab his sword; now Faris had no choice. "I yield!"

"Tell your soldiers to stand down!" Bethany had to shout over the din.

"I'm the commander in name, only! They can fight as they please!" Faris spat at her feet. "They will not go to Orlais!"

"We're not here to make you go to Orlais, halfwit!" Blackwall reached out and grabbed the man by his collar. Hauling him to his feet, he frog-marched the commander up the steps next to them, his sword at the unarmed man's back. Bethany followed.

"Stand down!" Blackwall roared above the din of battle. Bethany saw an archer out of the corner of her eye. She shouted a word, and the arrow was pushed away by the wave of force she unleashed. A fair few people below them also fell to the ground.

Blackwall tried again this time moving his sword to Faris's throat. "Stand down, wardens, or your commander is the first to be executed!"

That got the attention of those closest to him. Swords clattered to the ground. Then knees met stone as Bethany's companions forced everyone to surrender. Soon only the Inquisition forces and those villagers strong enough to fight were on their feet.

"Right," Blackwall said, and turned Faris to face him.

"We will not go to-" Blackwall punched him in the face, and his defiance was no more.

"Maker, that was grating." The bearded man ran has hand through his hair, then sheathed his sword. "Come on. We have to wake him up and question him."

* * *

"The wardens're doin' _what_?"

"Demons and blood magic, ser!"

Hawke narrowed her eyes. The commander, Faris, was much more accommodating once he realized it was not wardens who attacked, but Inquisition. He was a little confused where Bethany and Blackwall fit into it all, but Oghren had made it very clear he was in charge, and now Faris's big eyes pleaded with him as he sat tied to his seat in only tunic and trousers. He hadn't even had time to put boots on when the fighting broke out.

"Start over," Oghren gruffed now. "What did you see?"

"I obeyed Clarel's call at first," Faris said, his eyes darting from Oghren to Hawke, looming in the corner. "We rendezvoused in the desert. This man, I think he was Tevinter, was there. He gathered the mages together and they killed one of our archers! Next thing I know, there's demons. But they don't attack. He has the mages put blade to hand, and the demons obey them. They do it again and again, and soon there's at least five demons per mage – and five soldiers dead per mage. I got the hell out of there after that. Willingly sacrifice myself for blood magic? Never! Had to fight my way, as did all those who came with me. Managed to get two mages out before they did the ritual. Thanked me after, they did. Said they didn't feel they could refuse, or they'd be sacrificed to call up a demon. Then we came this way, and got stuck here when the snows came."

"Yah left out yer raid on th'village," Oghren growled. Then he turned to Hawke. "Whaddya think?"

Hawke shook her head. "It's a bad business if it's true."

"It is!" Faris insisted.

"Quiet, you," Oghren gruffed, chuffing the man on the side of the head. He was not gentle. He turned and marched out. "He's all yers, Damian."

Damian uncrossed her arms and pushed off from the wall. "Your men are in cells in the dungeon. What should I do with them?"

"They were following-"

"Don't give me that tripe," Hawke interrupted. "You're all defectors, perfectly capable of thinking for yourselves. Even if attacking the village had been your idea, any one of them could have stood aside, kept moving, found some other way. Maybe live and work in the village! What a thought? You would condemn over a hundred people to death to save your sorry hides! How are you better than your comrades sacrificing each other to summon demons?!"

Faris was silent, but his expression was more defiant than penitent.

Hawke made a pah sound. "Fine. The villagers can figure out what to do with y-"

"No!" He looked genuinely terrified at what they might do to him.

Eyes narrowed, Damian stared for a moment. "I see. Well. Then you'll face the justice of the Inquisition. You are all our prisoners. You will be escorted to Skyhold on the morrow."

"Skyhold?"

"Yes," Damian said, then turned, not bothering to explain. "Put him in a cell away from his comrades," she ordered the guards she had posted at the doors. "Then gather volunteers for the return trip to Skyhold. There are mages in those dungeons. Make sure we have at least three mages and templars in order to keep them in line."

"Aye, Ser Hawke!" one of the guards said. Hawke exited the room.

Outside, she found Bethany speaking with Blackwall. She paused for a moment, watching them. They seemed… closer. It itched at Hawke like a bad rash.

Then Blackwall saw Hawke. He got Bethany's attention and he left, presumably to give them some privacy.. Her sister turned as she approached, giving her an expectant look.

"Well?"

Damian shook herself of her irritation. Bethany was an adult and could flirt with who she liked. "Some sort of blood magic ritual summoning demons. It's… a bad business, Bethy."

Bethany frowned up at her sister. "Blood magic and demons? Do you have more details than that?"

"Some kind of ritual? It's sanctioned by Clarel. Can't be good."

"I agree," Bethany said, her frown still firmly in place. "We'll have to talk with Oghren about what to do." She then fell silent.

After a full minute of awkwardly standing by, Hawke changed the subject. "What were you and Blackwall discussing?"

Bethany seemed to shake herself from thought. "This rift in the lake," Bethany said.

"Yes?" Hawke prompted

"I have a theory."

"Do tell."

"There have been reports of dead bodies walking, right?" Bethany continued at Hawke's nod. "There's also one of those Fade rifts out there. You can see the green light at night from the wall of the dam."

"You think they're connected?" Hawke asked.

"I do," Bethany nodded. "And we can't do anything about closing it, not until the Inquisitor can make her way here. I imagine this place is rather low on her list of priorities. But we could do something about protecting the villagers, and this fortress." At the last, her eyes shifted up to rest on the standard of the Inquisition now flying from the flagpole above the fortress.

Damian rolled her eyes. The standard was someone's tabard. "Don't leave me in suspense, Sister."

"We – me and the other mages – can set wards to keep the rift from moving. The rest of the Inquisition forces can take out those demons and dead bodies moving about outside the perimeter of the wards. The wards themselves will help prevent spirits from wandering further afield. Then we post a rotation of guards to warn if something else comes through. They'll keep enough distance not to attract anything to them."

"And this will keep us all safe from the demons?"

"I can't guarantee anything, but I think it's the best we can do until the rift can be closed."

Hawke nodded. "Fine. I'll speak with those of the Inquisition, look for volunteers. You and Blackwall speak to Oghren. We need to write a report to Cauthrien, and maybe even come up with a plan on what to do next about this Grey Warden problem."

"Right you are, Sister." Then Bethany was gone.

Hawke sighed. "I need a drink and a romp," she muttered, and went off in search of Isabela.

* * *

The green light was magnificent. Magnificent, and terrible. Bethany had been in the Fade with her conscious mind many a time, but this was the closest she had ever come to seeing it physically, with her actual eyes.

It had been two days of watching the lake slowly drain, staring at that light from a distance and wondering about it. Then it had been two more days of hoping the fair weather held so the lakebed could dry out a bit, making it hospitable for exploring the rift.

Luck was on their side with that one. Bethany now stood many hundreds of yards away from the rift, floating high above the lakebed. Around it meandered many demons, as well as the possessed bodies of those who had fallen when the mayor flooded the old village. She waited as the others she'd brought with her fanned out, forming a circle around the rift, each mage giving it a wide berth.

Finally they were all in place. "All right," she murmured to the captain of the soldiers. "Attack now. Draw them away from the rift, and hopefully more won't come pouring out."

"You've a lot riding on this 'hopefully'," the captain murmured.

"I'm nearly certain," Bethany told her. "I can't give you more than that."

"I'll take it," the woman said, then raised her voice. "Archers! Fire!"

Five arrows were launched. Bethany murmured a spell, and the tips caught fire as they flew. A scuffle of rock and a squelch of mud sounded behind her, and Bethany turned to see the infantry that had come along preparing to fight. Battle cries were hurled into the air, and the demons and possessed bodies ahead began to make their way, taking the bait.

Bethany stayed hidden. Her job was to sneak around the fighting and place her wards while these foes were distracted. Then, and only then, would she join the fray.

She waited only a minute or two. _These things are bloody **fast**_ , she thought to herself as several monstrous forms slithered past her. They at least didn't seem to notice her there. Peeking around the old wall she hid behind, she saw her path clear. She began running. She needed to be within tens, and not hundreds, of yards from the rift in order to work magic that would be effective upon it.

Finally she felt she was close enough. In the distance, her comrades-in-magic began to slow, as well. She began her chanting, calling the power forth that she needed. On the last words of her spell, she planted the old rusted sword, the vessel for her power, into the ground. Magical wards needed a physical item so they might stay in the location they were placed, and this was her choice.

A soft hum started up, and as she released her hold on the ward, she saw the sword begin to vibrate with the hum she felt in the air. Suddenly, a bright light flashed, and then she felt her ward connect with the one to her right, then the one to her left. Within seconds, they had a magical cage that would hold the rift and any spiritual interlopers at bay.

A screech sounded. Bethany turned to see that the placement of the wards had not gone unnoticed. The horde that had passed her was now headed her way. Thankfully, it looked as though that force had been at least halved by her comrades. Pulling her staff up, she unleashed her own battle cry and ran to meet her foe.

* * *

Bethany led back a proud troupe of fighters, Inquisition and villagers alike. They lost no one out on the lakebed, though a fair few had needed the touch of a healing hand before they could attempt the walk back to the fortress. All in all, it was a good fight, and a successful move. Risky, sure, but now she knew everyone would be a great deal safer than before. And there was not one single demon left outside the boundary of the wards.

Waiting for her were Damian, Oghren, and Blackwall. None of them had come along. Bethany had insisted; she was in charge of this jaunt, and she would not have any of them undermine her in front of those soldiers. Having her sister around always undermined her confidence; Oghren was her commander; and Blackwall was just distracting after four days of doing nothing but flirting and remembering that kiss.

"Well done, Sister!" Hawke exclaimed, clapping her on the back like a comrade-in-arms.

Oghren gruffed something about getting drunk together later – No thank you! she thought to herself – before turning and going back inside the big doors of the fortress.

Blackwall merely smiled, his eyes crinkling in an adorable way.

A shiver ran down Bethany's back. She knew exactly how she wanted to celebrate, and it most certainly did not involve a drink with Oghren. She had spent four days catching Blackwall staring – while doing her own staring. They had flirted, they had shared their meals, and they had bonded by the big fire over past mistakes and the pull of the Calling in the backs of their minds. She wanted him. Oh how she wanted him.

In that moment, she decided to have him.

She gave Damian a look that she hoped conveyed she wished for privacy. Her sister pursed her lips, but nodded. Then Damian addressed the captain. "Fine work," she said, and followed the woman through the great doors. "I hope your sword took some demon flames? Seems a pity to not see how it held up against the heat."

After a few moments, it was only Bethany and Blackwall left outside. Bethany said nothing, only staring at Blackwall. How best to go about this?

He took a deep breath and broke the silence. "Good job. I couldn't see the details, obviously – too far away – but you all made it back in one piece. That's impressive."

"I don't want to talk about the battle," Bethany said.

"I- what… do you want to talk about?"

"Us."

"Pardon?"

She stepped closer. "What would you do if I kissed you again? Like I did the other day?"

His cheeks immediately bloomed red. "I… am not sure that's the best idea, my lady."

That stopped Bethany in her tracks. "It's… not?" He shook his head. Now it was Bethany's face that heated. "I… But we've been getting on so well…"

"I'm sorry, my lady. You are the most beautiful woman to ever pay me any attention. You are fierce and brave and have all the confidence I wish I had. I am flattered beyond measure. But… you don't want me. Not really." He gave her a terribly confusing look, and then he was gone, disappeared back inside the gates of the fortress.

She'd been so sure! What had happened? What had she missed? Confused and embarrassed, Bethany hurried inside, hiding her face so no one might see her shame.

* * *

 _A/N: Even I thought Bethany was about to have her way with (a very willing) Blackwall. Up until about 15 minutes ago. That's when Blackwall's guilt finally got the better of him and the ending of this chapter changed rather dramatically._


	20. Stone-Bear Hold

_A/N: Another chapter! And much of the next is written, too!_

 _As ever, thank you to my #betabeast Raven Sinead._

 _Many of you probably saw my explanation of my Facebook about what brought on my year of writer's block. Yes, I posted here and there during that time but nothing I was proud or even felt was all that interesting. The long and short of it is that hormones are fucking weird. And looking back, probably a good deal of this fic was written and posted while I was dealing with some weird hormonal stuff as part of fertility treatments. It makes me wonder if I'd be happier with this story if I went back and rewrote/reposted what I have so far. I don't think I'm going to do that... but who knows. Liking what I've posted might be worth the work._

 _Anyway. I'm hoping things pick up a bit from here. And if not, and no one else enjoys it... well, at least **I** had fun writing it!_

* * *

Zanneth walked some distance behind Tiven, the large Avvar who had spoken for the group when they first met. She found that, while he was much larger and longer of leg than she, he also lumbered compared to her. The pace was one she could easily match.

Cassandra walked next to her. Her armor had been taken by their captors – all their armor was gone except for Cauthrien, in fact – but she looked well enough in her leathers, plain homespun beneath. Her sword was strapped to her back, along with a shield, and upon her brow sprouted a light sheen of sweat. It was truly unseasonably warm in this place.

After some time, Zanneth spoke. "You look worried, Cassandra."

The Seeker seemed to come out of a reverie, furrowing her brows. "Of course I am worried."

"What about?"

"What _isn't_ there to be worried about?" Cassandra huffed before going on. "We do not know where we are, so we do not know how to return to Skyhold. Even if we did, we have no horses, and these Avvar have none we might commandeer. We have no way to contact Leliana or the others. We left Revka in the snow with two newborns after having been _cut open_ to retrieve them. And there is a ruthless clan of brigands out for your _blood_!" She took a deep breath. "I am most worried about that last one. The rest vie for second place."

Zanneth reached out, taking Cassandra's left hand with her right. "I am all right, _emma lath_. Right here, next to you, unharmed. You need not worry about _me_."

A sigh. "I know you are all right. It does not stop me from worrying that you will not be all right in the future."

"I mean," chimed in Bull, who walked close behind Zanneth, "you could say it's your job to worry about the Inquisitor, Seeker."

Cassandra looked more than a little annoyed at his intrusion into their conversation. Zanneth just looked behind her. She did not miss that he walked directly next to Dorian, who looked entirely putout by having to walk. She had overheard them talking about his lack of exercise over the winter in Skyhold. He missed his horse, and they all were in need of a bath, having gone more than a week in the sweltering heat in the clothes on their back.

"Why do you say that, Bull?" Zanneth asked him now.

He shrugged. "You guys are… _together_. And she's technically in charge of all of us. Your 'inner circle', who protect you. It's her job to worry, her job to protect, and her reward to be closest to you when you retire to your tents at night." He said the last with a lascivious tone to his voice.

Cassandra made a noise somewhere between a huff of disgust and a bleat of shock. "You will kindly _stop_ discussing our… _activity_ … after dark!"

Zanneth silently agreed. She could feel her ears flush red to the tips – well, to one tip.

Bull shrugged again. "We all know it. At least some of us think it. Why hide it?"

"It's not _hiding_ ," Cassandra began to explain, falling back and releasing Zanneth's hand. The elf let her. This just might be entertaining, to see if Bull could be convinced that privacy existed. It wasn't that he didn't respect it, she knew. He just didn't know where to even find that line. He had once explained to her that he was a good spy because he knew how to observe, had a damn good memory, and because human society did not expect either of those from him. It was not because he could keep secrets well, or even had a good eye for what was and was not secret-worthy.

"Inquisitor," Tiven said, and Zanneth looked up to see he had stopped and was waiting for her.

She jogged over to him. "Yes?"

"This is where we part," he said, pointing to the rest of his party. Zanneth could see that they were on a different path. She hadn't noticed them split off.

"You aren't leading us to your hold?"

Tiven shook his head. "Our thane knows you come, as we reported to her. We can do no more, and we must patrol and hunt for the hold. We will return with this night's moon. Continue up this path, and you will enter Stone-Bear Hold in less than an hour's time."

Zanneth nodded. "All right. Is… is there anything we should know? We know nothing of your people."

"Be strong. Be confident in what you _do_ know. And treat the thane with respect. You need not grovel, but she is our leader because we _chose_ her. Remember that, and remember that she and everyone else in the hold will kill you if you threaten her."

It was not a threat, nor was it said with a threatening demeanor. It was simply stated as fact.

"I had no plans to do so," Zanneth said. "How will I know her?"

He grinned. "You'll know. No one quite like her."

And then he was gone, jogging for the other path to catch up to his comrades.

Zanneth shook her head. Perhaps they did not say farewell among their people?

"Where is he going?!" Cassandra's voice rang out in alarm.

Zanneth turned to her. "I'll explain when everyone gets to us," she said.

Cassandra nodded, accepting this.

Zanneth watched as everyone caught up to her. They all looked a little worse for wear. Zanneth was no longer hungry, but she stood without armor – much like Cassandra – and without a jacket or cloak, only Leliana's bow on her back and a quiver of arrows at her hip that were _not_ well suited for use with a longbow.

Solas, Vivienne, and Dorian looked as though they had gone without sleep for days, despite days of drug-induced sleep. Bull sported several cuts that Solas could not afford the energy to heal. Sera had limped the first day, though now she walked normally. Ser Cauthrien soldiered on despite her blow to the head, her giant sword carried in her hands as her scabbard was gone with her horse. She said little, however, citing her dizziness if she tried to talk and march.

Varric had lost the magnificent coat he had been wearing, and then his shirt, now walking only in breeches and boots, Bianca carried in his hands. His chest, while quite hirsute, was also covered in cuts and slices in various stages of healing. He had explained that his attempts to talk himself out of the sack over his head had earned him more than one quick flick of a blade. In his words, he was a slow learner.

Taking a deep breath, Zanneth spoke. "The Avvar continue on in their duties to their people. We are to make our way into the hold of this clan on our own. The thane knows we come. I do not know what to expect, but I've been told to treat the thane with respect and we should come out on the other side unharmed."

"Good advice. Don't threaten the leader. We should've thought of that," Varric quipped, earning a small chuckle from Cauthrien, Bull, Dorian, and Sera. Cassandra scowled at him.

Zanneth continued, letting Cassandra scowl as she pleased. Cassandra's emotions were not hers to manage; nor, indeed, could they be managed when Varric was involved. "I don't think I need to remind you all that there are people trying to kill us, and we need these people's _help_."

Cassandra spoke next. "We are the Inquisition here. Act like it, and do not disgrace us." She eyed Bull. " _Please_."

The great qunari chuckled. "I won't talk about you fucking, Seeker."

Ears hot from Bull's words, Zanneth turned and set off up the path, noting that it was quickly rising and becoming steeper. This was going take longer than the hour promised…

* * *

A cliff rose up to Cassandra's left and dropped off to her right. The wind had a chill that the heat from the climb could not combat. "No wonder they dress in furs," she murmured.

"D'ya think we'll finally find 'em 'round that bend?" Sera queried.

"I couldn't say," Zanneth answered, arms wrapped around herself. Cassandra held a similar pose as she walked. Why did the wind howl so? It had started suddenly, and the chill had cut through their minimal clothing shortly thereafter.

Rounding the bend, the wind abruptly stopped howling, feeling no stronger than a stiff breeze. It still left her chilled, however she couldn't pay that any mind. The landscape had also changed.

They had entered Stone-Bear Hold.

The first thing Cassandra noticed was that there was nobody shorter than herself. It was… strange. She was not the tallest woman she knew – Solona still held that place – but not many women were taller than her. But here… Not only was her party stared at, but every fur-clad person looked _down_ in order to take each of them in.

Well. Except for Bull.

Cassandra put a protective hand on Zanneth's shoulder. The elf looked up, meeting the warrior's eyes. "You are ready?" the Seeker asked.

The elf shrugged. "I don't see another option."

"That is not a comforting answer."

Zanneth shot her a quiet grin, then she was moving once more.

The people here seemed to know who they were. It did not escape Cassandra's notice that they seemed to form a path. She suspected that if she tried to go a different way from the path open before her, a fair few of these giants would correct her.

Finally, they came to a flat, open area. Many people stood about, some in furs, some in the white and black body paints they had seen on their dead captors. Upon a dais of wood stood two people: a woman in tan furs, and a man in the body paint, a great beast's skull and hide adorning his head. Cassandra could only guess this made him a leader. She did not know about the woman.

"Inquisitor!" The voice boomed, and it reminded Cassandra immediately of their capture a week before. Her sword was half out of her scabbard before Bull's hand landed on her own hand, pushing her weapon back down.

"She's the boss," he said simply. "And we're guests. Don't draw weapons here. You can't take them all, Seeker."

Cassandra pursed her lips, but nodded. She would be damned if she left Zanneth's side, however, so she stepped forward with the elf, staying just behind her right shoulder.

"Inquisitor?" This was the woman upon the dais, her voice carrying just as well as the man at her side.

Zanneth stepped forward, away from her companions. "Yes, I am the Inquisitor." Her voice was raised, in its upper register. Only Cassandra ever heard the elf's deepest notes.

"Kill her! She is enemy to the Avvar!" The painted man took a step forward. "Her mark calls the tears in the skies which kill our warriors and haunt our game!"

Zanneth shook her head. "That is not the way of it." Her voice was even, measured, and not raised louder than necessary. "Your hunters spoke to you? Tiven and the others?" She addressed the woman. _Ah_ , Cassandra thought. _That must be their thane. Tiven had used the female pronoun._

"Yes," the woman said. "But you stand accused nonetheless." Her voice, too, was not raised louder than necessary, leaving the painted man to be the only one visibly upset. A good tactic. "Come closer. Only you. Leave your holdkin behind."

Zanneth turned an apologetic look on Cassandra. "Stay here, _ma vhenan_. I will be all right, I promise."

Cassandra felt utterly helpless as she watched Zanneth walk through a crowd of giant people until she stood at the foot of the wooden dais. She looked so _small_ as she spoke with the two leaders. Cassandra could not make out what was said, so she turned to The Iron Bull.

"Sorry, Seeker. I can't hear _that_ well."

"I can," Sera said, pushing her way to Cassandra's side. "Big tall-y there, he's sayin' Inky's killin' the Avvar on purpose. Inky's tellin' what 'appened to us. And… shite."

"What?!" Cassandra hissed, her heart dropping.

"Dunno the whole deal, but she's got to do somethin' to prove herself, or her innocence? I-"

The blonde elf got no further. The thane in the furs spoke up for all to hear. "It is impossible to tell the truth of the matter. The Inquisitor could be lying, or she could be telling the truth. As she is the only one with a mark like she has, she is the only one who can say how it works or what her intent might be. She has agreed to a test of skill. The Lady of the Skies will empower the party in the right of things!"

She looked to her side, where the big man with the war paint and the headdress stood. "You have your champion, Thane Harofsen?"

The man gestured with one hand, and a man painted like the thane with a bow over his back stepped forward. Cassandra would have approved, if she were on his side. The man was tall and rangy, but well muscled. He could excel at many things.

If he were to fight Zanneth, it would never be a fair fight, and while Zanneth could use the gladius she usually bore well enough, she was truly a master of her bow – a weapon seldom allowed in melee challenges.

"You will climb the wall when I say. To run ahead is to forfeit, and death is the consequence. Ready yourselves."

Zanneth's white hair moved as she nodded. Then, her bow was off, as well as her quiver, followed quickly by her boots.

"What is she doing?!" Cassandra said in alarm.

"Has ta feel the stone 'neath her feet," Sera said. "Same if you climb a buildin' with speed. Your toes can fit where your boots can't. Bloody cold here for it, though."

"It looks utterly barbaric. Her toes will be bloody stumps by the end!" Dorian had remained quiet through most of their march, grumbling but saying nothing else. Now, however, he stood with the rest of them, aghast at the sight of their Inquisitor divesting herself of cumbersome accouterments.

"If one is not accustomed to it, yes," Solas said. "But look at her confidence. She is experienced at this."

Cassandra could certainly vouch for the calluses on the Dalish elf's feet. She also knew that the calluses on her hands were not only those earned from her bow. She kept those thoughts to herself, however.

"I imagine she climbs her fair share of trees, at least," Vivienne chimed in. She looked somewhat bedraggled. Her typical headdress had been lost, leaving her standing at her natural height, her hair short and black and _soft_ compared to the headdress. It did very little to detract from her attitude, however; she was haughty as ever, even here in the jungle.

 _Or… mountains? I swear I caught a glimpse of a bog. What_ _ **is**_ _the landscape here?_

White hair bobbed again, pulling Cassandra's attention back to the scene in front of her. The other Avvar had at least moved to give them all a good view. Zanneth slapped her hands together a few times, digging her toes into the dirt and squatting, warming her muscles up.

 _This is really happening. She must_ _ **prove**_ _herself to these people._ Cassandra knit her brows. She could do nothing but watch.

* * *

Zanneth half-crouched, hands on her knees. Looking up, she took in the cliff face. Plenty of hand- and footholds dotted it, but she could tell even from this distance that they were not well suited for the height of an elf. And this was a race, so she would have no time to test each path to find the ones that would allow her to pass to the top.

She resisted the temptation to look back at Cassandra. She knew her lover would be worried. She need not distract herself with that image; rather, she must focus on the task ahead.

She also did not bother distracting herself by taking in her opponent. She had eyes only for the wall of rock in front of her. Mentally, Zanneth plotted her course, deciding which juts and cracks she would aim for.

"You are ready," the woman in charge announced. "Set yourselves. And GO!"

Zanneth pushed off with one foot, and then she was running. She knew her first handle would be out of reach if she jumped for it normally, so instead she timed her running jump ahead of the cliff face. Landing with both feet right at the foot of the wall, Zanneth squatted low, storing her momentum so she could spring directly upward.

Her hands found the jutting rock she was looking for. Gripping firmly, she scrambled with her toes. The rock scraped, but she remained undamaged, and then her feet were high enough that she could reach for a crack above her. A second later, she was crouched with her _feet_ on the rounded jutting of rock, and she could again launch herself into the air.

It was not ideal. In general, to aim for a handhold one could not reach was the height of stupidity. But never had she needed to reach the top of a cliff before someone else, let alone someone so well built for the task.

But he was _heavy_. Zanneth, despite the weight she'd gained over the winter, was likely only two-thirds of his weight – or less. Where Zanneth lacked his reach, she had the advantage in her ability to quite literally throw her weight around.

Gathering her body in a jackknife position, Zanneth leapt. It would be her last leap and then she would be able to scramble to the top of the cliff.

She faltered. Something happened. The rock under her toes was loose, perhaps, and when she pushed off, it crumbled. Zanneth reached as high as she could, but she simply had not gone high enough. She felt her body reach its zenith, and then she began to fall, her stomach up in the vicinity of her throat.

Cassandra's voice cut through her concentration-induced quiet. "Zanneth!"

Her fingers caught hold in a large crack, and her motion halted. It hurt, but she could still feel her fingers, and they were not broken. Scrambling for a foothold, Zanneth looked up. She hadn't fallen all that far. She could still make it…

Distantly, the Inquisitor realized her hand was bleeding. Pushing the information aside, she reached as high as she could, pushing with her feet in a small jump. She was now where she'd been when she fell, but she didn't stop to consider where else to put her hands and feet. This was not a long, slow, steady crawl up a high cliff. This was a contest; a contest for her life, for if she lost, she would be proclaimed to be lying.

With one last mighty shove, Zanneth had her fingers over the top of the cliff.

"No!"

The elf finally looked to her left, where her opponent was making his climb. He, too, hung by his fingers. But he was heavier, and he had more of himself to pull up. Muscles bunching beneath her undershirt, Zanneth hauled herself the rest of the way up, rolling away from the edge of the cliff before popping up to her feet. She held up her hands, the Anchor glowing faintly for all to see.

She had won.

"The Inquisitor holds favor in the eyes of the Lady of the Skies!" The thane's voice rang out for all to hear. "Thane Harofsen, the Inquisitor has the truth of it. She and her holdkin are no enemies, and have guest-welcome in Stone-Bear Hold."

"You are in treaty with the Jaws of Hakkon!" the man roared.

"Aye! We will not take up arms against the Jaws of Hakkon!" the woman replied, her tone… _hot_. That was all Zanneth could think of to describe it. "So long as the terms are still met!"

At her side, Zanneth's opponent finally pulled himself over the side of the cliff. Many fur-clad Avvar stood around them up here, so Zanneth felt comfortable with him so close, despite his clear hostility.

Zanneth watched as the man with the headdress stood still, seething with fury. Finally, he spoke. "Very well. I hope your _hold beast_ hunts as well as your _guest_ hunts our people!"

Something was off about what he said, though it held no meaning for Zanneth. Perhaps it was the way the fur-clad woman stiffened at his words.

"Leave now, Gurd." Zanneth could barely hear it, and only in one ear, but she was sure those were the words uttered by one thane to another. The painted man shouted, and his people rounded themselves up. The man who had climbed against her jogged down a path to their right, and a minute later he retrieved his things and was gone.

Zanneth traveled the same path but more slowly. As she walked, she examined herself. Several fingers bled, the skin torn or missing entirely, and one large toenail had been pulled up in her haste. But all said and done, she was undamaged.

Certainly, other parts of her body bore the evidence of far worse injuries.

"Zanneth, you are bleeding!"

Zanneth held up her hands, but that did not stop Cassandra. The woman took her bleeding hands in her own, her expression caught between concern and admonishment.

" _Emma lath_ , a moment," she said, gently but firmly extricating her hands from her lover's. She went to the thane of this place, looking up to her.

"You are most impressive, Inquisitor," the woman said, her eyes dancing in the strange light of this place. The sun only hit here directly in the morning, meaning the rest of the day they spent in indirect light. That, the cliff, and the ocean made this a cold place despite the warm jungle they had passed through.

"I hope you meant what you said? My… holdkin, you called them? We could use a rest after our captivity and subsequent march here. Your warriors have much longer legs than I."

It took a moment, but then the thane threw her head back and laughed from her belly. Zanneth smiled. Making a leader laugh was always a good thing.

Calming, the thane reached for Zanneth as she stepped off the dais. "Come, come! I am Thane Svarah Sun-Hair, and you have guest-welcome in my hold! Eat, drink, and rest, and then we shall exchange our stories!"


End file.
